In Pullus Veritas
by OpportuneMoment
Summary: Michael escapes from the facility to spend Christmas with his family, where a few home truths are discovered...
1. Invitation

**__**

"IN PULLUS VERITAS"

(IN CHICKEN, TRUTH)

_ _

Author: Gillian Slater

****

E-mail: LeoricGS@aol.com

****

Rating: PG -13

****

Teaser: Michael escapes from the facility to spend Christmas with his family, where a few home truths are discovered....

****

Disclaimer: As always, these characters do not belong to me, they are the property of the show's creators, and I'm borrowing them for my own sinister purposes...

****

Note: This story is set just after the episode "Pulp Turkey", and please excuse any inaccuracies in my references to New York City... I'm English...

****

PART ONE

"What are you going to do with me on Christmas??"

This was the question which Morris had heard all too often since the fiasco at the Wiseman family home during Thanksgiving. The doctor knew what Michael was getting at. He wanted to see his family for the holiday, and Morris was determined that that simply wouldn't happen.

"The same thing that was _meant_ to happen on Thanksgiving. You'll come with me to my sister's house, and spend Christmas there, remembering, of course, to eat only what I allow you to eat. I'll explain that you have a medical condition which requires dietary limitations." The doctor said, his tone offhand.

"No offence, Doc, I mean I'm sure your family are really great, but you shouldn't have to deal with me during the holidays. I'm _work_, and I wouldn't want work to spoil your vacation. Christmas should be relaxing, spending time with the people you love, not babysitting your science project."

"Don't think I don't know what you're doing, Mr. Wiseman. Nothing on this earth will persuade me to let you out for Christmas."

"Boy, the whole 'Peace on earth and goodwill to all men' idea really didn't hit home with you did it?" Michael's tone was bitterly sarcastic. "Or is it that you don't think of me as a man, just a government-issue artificial warrior, right?"

"I'm not having this conversation with you," Morris stated, flatly refusing to answer Michael's hurt accusations, "Because I know you're trying to beat me down with every different argument you can think of. I can't fault your strategy, though. It's just a good job the emotional pleas don't work on me. Now, it's 6:05. Time for you to spend some quality time alone. I'll see you tomorrow, Mr. Wiseman." The doctor turned and swept out of the room without a backward glance at his defeated subject.

Michael looked towards his room, his bed. No, he couldn't just go lie down and sleep like the obedient guinea-pig. That he never would be. Restless with frustration, he stripped off his shirt and took a massive dive, half-clothed, into the pool. He completed five lengths of the pool underwater before surfacing, not even out of breath. It felt good to drive all his frustration into pounding through the water at incredible speed. He took his fury out on the water, knowing there was no way he could simply drive his fist into the doc's smug face, and right now he really wanted to.

As he continued his anxiety-relieving exercise, diving to the very bottom and staying there for as long as he could, his acute hearing picked up the sound of the doorbell. Michael gulped in surprise, and suddenly his air was gone. He shot upwards and broke the surface spluttering, even as he scrambled out of the pool and grabbed a towel, drying himself vigorously as he rushed downstairs to the front door. His pounding heart and impeccable instincts told him who was on the other side even before he looked through the peephole to see Lisa hovering nervously outside. 

She rang the bell again, and for a moment Michael seriously considered smashing the key-pad with his fist or ripping the door open. Instead, he turned to face the camera in the stairwell, looking earnestly up at it.

"Look, doc, I know you're watching, so how's about opening the door, huh? You can do that, right, it's all electronic so just punch in the code from your end." He looked expectantly at the camera as though it might reply, then continued to reason with it. "All the lights are on so she'll know I'm in here... and if you come in here just to open the door she's gonna get suspicious. You're supposed to be my boss, after all, not my keeper." 

There was a long pause and Michael held his breath in anticipation of the decision. He heard three staccato tones from behind him, then, and the bolts slid open. "Thank you," he breathed quietly.

He opened the door to his wife's smiling face, and the chill evening breeze sent a shiver through his still-wet body. Lisa muddled though a halting greeting, obviously as excited as he to be face to face again. She looked him up and down, and the attraction in her eyes was immediately evident as she forgot the first lines of what was probably a well-rehearsed piece. Her expression was a mixture of excited admiration and confusion as she noted his bare chest still glistening with drops of water and his dripping hair. 

"Ha-have you just got out of the shower?" She silently cursed herself immediately for asking such a dumb question. 

"Swimming... I was swimming." Michael replied with fond amusement in his eyes as he watched her struggle to overcome the distraction caused by his half-clothed appearance and remember what she wanted to say. She took a deep breath and launched into rapid speech, fumbling with the hurried words.

"I... ahh, I was just wondering if you have plans for Christmas dinner this year, 'cause it's just that I felt so awful the way I treated you on Thanksgiving, and after you fought off those armed robbers and saved our lives and everything I just felt that this time I'd make up for it with a proper invite and, so... what I'm basically saying is, would you like to join Heather and me for Christmas dinner?"

Michael raked a hand through his soaking hair and leaned against the door frame, the chill air on his chest no longer bothering him as he looked questioningly into Lisa's eyes.

"You... want me to come for Christmas dinner? Wow, I mean, this is..."

"Oh, if you have other plans, then..."

"No! Not at all! It's just, well, I have to..." he struggled to find an excuse for his hesitation, "...Check with my boss first, you know, because working for Uncle Sam, a holiday's just another day, so..."

"You can't make it, then. It's okay." The disappointment in her voice was clearly audible.

"Wait! I... I just said I'll have to get permission, but... if I can the answer's yes. No question, I'd love to come, I mean I'd _really_ love to." Lisa brightened.

"Listen, I seem to remember making you seriously angry when I stood you up last time, and to avoid that happening again, why don't I get my ticket of leave first and then call you to confirm? Uh, what's today...?"

"The 23rd, Wednesday." A sudden grin of childish delight swept across Michael's face.

"It's Christmas Eve tomorrow?" Lisa's affirmative came with a puzzled smile.

"Right." Michael continued quickly, "Ha, of course it is! So, I'll call you tomorrow?"

"Sure." Lisa slowly let out the breath she didn't realise she'd been holding. Supremely satisfied at having gotten at least a preliminary affirmative from him, the tension eased, her eyes began to rove over him again seemingly of their own volition, and Michael shivered for a different reason under her eager scrutiny. 

Michael was pleased to affect such a reaction in her, and decided to keep her mind on the same track, at least for now, when he noticed the large bunch of mistletoe nestling in the top of her shopping bag. With the stealth he was engineered for, he pilfered a twig of the mistletoe and brought it up to her attention.

"What d'ya know? I always meant to hang some of this above my door, but I haven't managed to get hold of any."

"Oh, well you can have that bit," Lisa obliged.

It was the reply he had hoped for. Mumbling his thanks, he edged out of the doorway, turned, and put one hand up to the door frame. Lisa's eyes widened in surprise and she felt herself begin to breathe very heavily as she watched the athletic young man before her do a slow one-handed chin-up on the door frame and then suspend himself there as he impaled the twig of mistletoe on a rusty nail which had obviously been put there years ago for the same purpose.

He dropped to the floor with feline grace and swivelled back to face her, grinning his intent. "It's tradition..." he pointed out, seeing her follow his purposeful glance up to the dangling mistletoe. Lisa's eyes searched his smiling face, his laughing eyes and compelling lips and made her decision, giving a brief, salutary nod to 'tradition' before moving in to allow him to capture her face in his large hands and claim her lips with his own.

Her breath was quite literally taken away by the kiss, and her mind flew back to that evening on the subway platform. Then, just as much as now, she had felt something inexorably powerful in his kiss, the same incredible depth of feeling one simply wouldn't expect from a man she'd known for so short a time. He communicated a longing so intense and poignant it nearly moved her to tears, though she couldn't understand the reason for it.

What had begun as a somewhat predictable seasonal excuse to indulge her fantasies with the mysterious young man became something undeniably stronger as she moved into his full embrace, feeling his arms, those wonderfully muscular arms which displayed such feats of strength as she'd just witnessed encircle her as her own reached instinctively around his neck to curl her fingers in his soaking hair.

As their lips finally parted she opened her eyes to meet his. Seeing the fierce emotion which burned in his eyes as he clung to her, she was at once shocked, disturbed and breathlessly excited to find the same consuming possessiveness and need welling up inside herself. _Who is this man?**!**_ Her heart raced as she became acutely aware of their close proximity, his chest still pressed against hers and her fingers still combing through the errant strands of wet hair at his nape.

She broke away, blushing furiously and lowered her eyes from his captivating face. Michael let his arms drop and stepped back, exhaling his pent-up tension loudly.

"Man," he breathed, "That's good mistletoe..."

This drew a shy smile from Lisa. "Well then, I'll be sure to hang plenty around the house on Christmas day." They both smiled, sharing on an unconscious level the knowledge that something powerful had just passed between them, but the need in their eyes now replaced with covering humour.

Lisa began to lose herself in his sparkling eyes again, thinking of all their past meetings and how even through such odd contact there had always been a lingering sense of familiarity to him. _The eyes - the windows to the soul,_ she recalled the old adage, _But whose?_

She was staring again, Michael noted, and, just as it happened every time they interacted, a brief, heated conflict raged inside him. He could almost see the workings of her mind as she tried to fathom her obvious feelings for him and he fought the urge to remain locked in her gaze and let her figure him out, to pour his love and his soul into his eyes and let her see it, see _him_, but each time the voice of reason, the voice of perilous doubt told him to bail out, to cover, to prevent her form _feeling_ his identity for fear that Morris would finally carry out his threats. The voice of warning triumphed once again, and he quickly blinked away all evidence of Michael Wiseman in his eyes and became 'Mr. Newman' again.

His polite cough sent both retreating to the embarrassed present, and Lisa haphazardly returned to the subject of Christmas dinner. Michael haltingly but genuinely reassured his wife that he'd call her to confirm.

Feeling keenly that she'd outstayed not her welcome, but certainly her own sense of propriety, she cast a wistfully appreciative glance over his glistening flesh once more, before abruptly pulling her eyes away and focusing rigidly on his face.

"You, ah, must be freezing stood at the door like this all soaking wet, so I'll..." She motioned towards the sidewalk.

"Uh-huh, yeah. I'd better get dressed anyway. I'll speak to you soon, then." He was awarded another one of her stunning shy smiles and reciprocated as she stepped away and continued on down the street. Michael gazed after her for as long as he dared and then closed the door and leant against it, taking long, contented breaths. He punched the air excitedly._ "Yes**!**"_ He turned to the camera, then, with a gleeful expression.

"Doc', you and me got some serious talking to do tomorrow." He grinned widely as he imagined the furious expression that would be on Morris' face right now and headed for his bedroom, feeling more relaxed than he had in a long time.

*****

Heather was perched on the edge of the kitchen table munching a piece of toast as Lisa walked in and dumped her shopping bags down unceremoniously on the surface, sighing wearily. Heather studied her mother's face shrewdly for a few moments and leaned forward in eager inquisition.

"So... what happened?"

"Huh?"

"You went to see him, right?"

Lisa's face was all innocence. "Who?"

Heather's expression was overcome with extreme scepticism. "Earth to Mom - this is _me_ you're talking to! What happened with Mr. 'Hottie' Newman?"

"Well... I... stopped by his house to ask him to Christmas dinner just like you said." Her tone was purposefully light and dismissive.

"And?"

"And, he's thinking about it, or, well he said he wants to come but he's got to get permission so... he'll call."

"_AND**?!**_" Heather nearly fell off the table as she enthusiastically leaned still further forward. Lisa paused, maintaining the innocent look as long as possible before finally surrendering.

"_And_... he kissed me." She tried to sound casual but couldn't keep a little of the excitement she felt from reaching her eyes. Heather's look was triumphant, as though she took the credit for their encounter. After all, it had been her idea to invite Mr. Newman to dinner in the first place.

"Way to go Mom! I hope you used protection."

"_Heather**!**_" Lisa cried, shocked out of her deeper thoughts and staring at her daughter in outrage. Heather's face, however, showed no signs of guilt as she smirked shamelessly, pointing to the top of Lisa's shopping bag.

"Mistletoe," She said earnestly, "It's good luck, right?" Lisa let out a loud breath, trying desperately to force the mask of parental disapproval at the inuendo over her wicked grin, but clearly failing. Heather jumped off the table and headed out of the kitchen.

"And let's face it, the way you've been trying to chicken-out with Mr. Newman, you need all the help you can get!"

Lisa attempted to swat her playfully as she walked past, but Heather scooted smartly out of the way and grinned impishly as she walked out.

*****


	2. Breakout

**__**

"IN PULLUS VERITAS"

(IN CHICKEN, TRUTH)

_ _

Author: Gillian Slater

****

E-mail: LeoricGS@aol.com

****

Rating: PG -13

****

Disclaimer: As always, these characters do not belong to me, they are the property of the show's creators, and I'm borrowing them for my own sinister purposes...

****

PART TWO

"I've said 'no', Mr. Wiseman, and that's the end of it."

"You say that now, but you should know I'm not gonna shut up until I've got my way."

"Then I might just have to ready the OR."

"Huh?"

"I can perform a laryngectomy at short notice. It's messy and intrusive, but if you're determined..." he left it hanging threateningly, seeing Michael's face blanch.

"A_ what_ now...?" He backed away from the doctor, making his way quickly to the other side of the swimming pool. Morris grinned victoriously.

"Listen, don't you be readying anything. I think I've been under the knife quite enough for this lifetime. Let's wait until you decide to reincarnate me again."

"That might have to be the case if you persist in these attempts to visit your wife. There are enough smart people dying from tragic accidents to more than meet my needs for a new donor brain."

"Okay, okay!" Michael exclaimed hurriedly, trying to placate the scientist's obvious wrath. "Only let me stay home - _here_ that is - for the holiday? Can't you post guards on me or something? 'Cause really, truly, I don't want to spoil your vacation. There's no sense in us _both_ having our Christmases ruined by some congressman's security paranoia." Dr. Morris made no reply as he turned and gestured sternly to the chin-up bar.

Despite Michael's resolution to persuade the doctor round to his point of view, he knew when to let up, and continued the day's training without further pleas to his relentless taskmaster. As he slumped against the exercycle bars, exhausted, Dr. Morris slipped on his suit jacket and approached.

"So... I'm going to be gone for two days. _Two days_, Mr. Wiseman, during which you will not leave this facility or have any contact with anyone except the guard. The door will be alarmed and bolted..."

"Doc'!" Michael cut in, smiling widely, "Say hi to Grandma Pearl for me, huh?"

"Hmmm." Morris raised one eyebrow, the reluctance to leave Michael unattended and the nagging suspicion that somehow his resourceful prototype would manage to cause trouble playing evidently across his face. Michael put on his most earnestly innocent expression.

"Look, just go, have yourself a merry little Christmas, and I'll be caught up on my rest and ready to train my ass off the second you get back, deal?"

"It'd better be. Season's greetings, Mr. Wiseman." He smiled a little, then, his misgivings eased, and headed for the door, beginning a cheery rendition of 'Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas' as he left.

*****

The guard appeared about half an hour after the doctor left **:** a fresh-faced youth of not more than Michael's own age, or at least the approximate age of his reconditioned self. He held his rifle rigidly across himself as he made a thorough inspection of the facility, culminating in the bedroom, where he found Michael sprawled comfortably on the bed with his arms folded behind his head, still wearing the sleeveless sweat-top he'd been working out in all day.

The guard's eyes widened in surprise as he saw the prototype for the first time. He looked so, well, almost normal, but there was an alertness to his relaxed pose, an unspoken, deadly strength in the powerfully muscular arms which supported his head, and a shrewd intelligence in the eyes which looked somehow too old for the face they shone out of. The guard cleared his throat, and a look of wariness mingled with faint traces of fear touched his youthful features. Michael picked up on it immediately.

"What, you've never seen an artificially created human killing machine before?" The guard flinched slightly at Michael's sarcastically hostile tone but recovered quickly, his eyes narrowing minutely.

"I've, uh, been briefed... I'm aware of your capabilities..." the soldier began haltingly, then with some effort he forced the wavering in his voice to subside, continuing with more assurance, "And I'm authorised to use force if you decide to become... difficult."

Michael stifled a chuckle as the soldier obviously tried to make his tone menacing, but the nervous trepidation in his voice carried the threat with less-than-total conviction. Concealing his sympathetic smile, Michael regarded his determined young guardian, deciding to cut the lad some slack. _God, he looks more nervous than I was the day I first walked into Grand Empire._ He mused. He rolled off the bed and stood, holding up his hands placatingly and making no sudden movement which would startle the soldier, whose hand had already flown instinctively to his rifle.

"Whoa, there. Y'know, I don't believe we've been properly introduced here," He thrust his hand out in a friendly gesture, "Michael Wiseman." The guard eyes the offered hand a little suspiciously before removing his own hand from the rifle and clasping Michael's briefly.

"Steven Forrester. That's _Corporal._" He emphasised his rank with an assertiveness which belied his insecurity.

"Pleased to meet ya, _Corporal._" Michael echoed the emphasis as if in confirmation of the younger man's authority. The corporal seemed to be put a little more at ease by this. Michael continued on then, making polite but essentially meaningless small-talk in an attempt to direct the conversation to the position he wanted. When there a significant pause in the exchange, Michael hesitantly got around to his subject.

"So... do you have a cell phone in there?" He eyed Forrester's khaki jacket, where an obvious bulge in the inside pocket confirmed his suspicions. The corporal nodded his affirmative. "Can I borrow it?" Michael asked smoothly. Immediately the younger man's guard was up again, and he stared speculatively at his charge.

"I'm under orders, Mr. Wiseman..."

"So am I," Michael cut in earnestly. "Doctor Morris told you I'm not to leave the building, right?" Another affirmative nod. "Well, in that case I need to phone and cancel an important _official_ appointment I made before the doc' decided to ditch me here and go holiday with his folks." The corporal's returning glare was sceptical. "He _told_ me to. Come on, if I don't call there's gonna be some very federal people getting very pissed off at being stood up by an experimental subject."

He held his breath, watching the conflicting emotions parade across Forrester's face as he took a moment to weigh up Michael's argument against his own uncertainty before finally reaching inside his jacket for his cellphone and handing it reluctantly to Michael.

"You'd better be being straight with me..." Michael answered with his most innocent 'Would I tell a lie?' expression and accepted the phone gratefully.

"Listen, would you mind going and guarding the front door or something while I make this call, 'cause a lot of this is classified information, you understand... need-to-know basis and all that..?" Thankfully, the jittery young guard's ears pricked up at the mention of the word 'classified' and he was spurred into a hasty retreat. Michael grinned again. _Military conditioning,_ he thought. _So this is the future of America's defence force?_

He shook his head and sighed, before the stray thought struck him that actually _he_ was meant to be the future of the American military - others of his kind. He was never allowed to forget that he was just the 'prototype', the forerunner for hundreds more off the same production-line. Would they all look like him, he wondered? Thousands of Mr. Newmans in uniform fighting World War Three? It was a bizarrely disturbing image and he shook it off quickly as he turned his mind to the task in hand, grimly realising that this would be even more unpleasant a duty.

As soon as Forrester was out of sight and earshot, he dialled his old phone number, running through the possible excuses and explanations in his mind, each sounding more implausible than the last, and all the while hating himself and Dr. Morris for being the cause of yet another affront to his wife.

"Hello?" Michael caught his breath as Lisa's cheerfully casual voice replied.

"Hi, Lisa... uh, Mrs. Wiseman," He amended quickly, reminding himself that to her he was still only an occasional acquaintance.

"Mr. Newman! Hi!" The pleasure in Lisa's voice was easily discernible, and Michael felt all the more daunted by his task. "So, you're actually calling. That's a big improvement..." He winced as she slyly referred to his previous unreliability. "... But should I take this as a good or a bad sign?"

"Well," Michael steeled himself to say the abhorrent words, "I, uh, I'm afraid I won't be able to make it for dinner. I'm so sorry. Really, I feel terrible about this but I just... can't get away."

Lisa must have heard the remorse in his tone, Michael thought, but the bitter irony would be lost on her, since she could never realise how true that statement was. He held his breath as he waited for the silence on the other end of the line to be broken. He expected disappointment, anger maybe... but what eventually came across was a tone of calm detachment.

"Could you put Dr. Morris on, please?" Michael was thrown by that.

"Ah, I can't. He's not here, he's, uhh..."

"Hmm?" Lisa prompted.

"Well, he's gone to his sister's for Christmas, so..."

"A-ha! I knew it!" The anger and annoyance burst into her tone, "I just knew it! Who the hell does he think he is? He refuses to let you come out for a little holiday cheer and then takes off himself! I'll bet he's left you under a mountain of paperwork while he's enjoying his family get-together!"

The righteous indignation in her voice echoed Michael's own feelings on the situation exactly, and he was moved to hear her fight so vehemently for his cause, even if it was a lost one.

"Can't you just, I dunno, play 'hookie' just this once?" She implored, reasoning, "I mean, no one can say you don't deserve a little freedom." Michael smiled wistfully at her choice of words. He couldn't agree more.

"Oh, I wish. But it's not like I can just break out of here on a second's notice and hop a cab -- I've got my orders..."

Michael heard himself say the words and almost couldn't believe that they had issued from his own lips. Orders? Since when did this wayward lab-rat play by the rules? Lisa brought him back to the conversation, then, alarmingly picking up on Michael's one inadvertently telling phrase.

"_Break out?!_ You're not saying he's got you locked in there?" Michael heard her incredulous tone change to fury once again as she ploughed ahead, cutting off his half-formed explanation. "That's just like him! I've seen the way he treats you - like a slave not an employee. He's just gotta play the dictator, well there are laws against that kind of thing. And you know what? I don't care what authority this guy's got over you - as of this moment I'm waving it!" Her voice had taken on a commanding tone of its own as she mimicked the militaristic quality of Morris' own habitual mode of addressing his subject.

"What are you suggesting?" Michael asked, his heart beating wildly now as he felt Lisa's fierce determination. The line was briefly silent as she formulated her plan.

"I'm coming over there right now to pick you up. You do whatever you have to do to get away -- just sweep all the IRS papers under the rug or something and meet me out front, okay?" Michael realised it would be more complicated than she imagined, but indicated his agreement.

"Fifteen minutes, right?"

"I'll be there." Michael snapped the phone shut, reeling from both the audacity of Lisa's plan and the ardent resolution in her tone. Given a cause, she would champion it with passion and tenacity. It was never her style to do things by halves, and Michael's heart expanded with pride at this display of her fervour, all for him, all because she felt the injustice that had weighed so heavily upon him since his redefinition as 'government property'.

Strolling out of his bedroom, he glanced around his spartan lodgings. To his amusement, he found that Corporal Forrester, so adamant about his own authority, had indeed taken Michael's hint and gone to guard the front door. He would have to be knocked out, of course. It was a shame to do that to someone who was essentially an innocent in the case - just following orders, but there was no other option.

__

I'll be gentle, Michael told himself, _And I'll be back tomorrow night anyway - it's not like a day in this cage would destroy the kid. I've been stuck here for ten months._ He smiled speculatively then, _Huh, maybe Forrester makes a report on how unpleasant it is being locked up in here... maybe the project leaders think twice about my imprisonment and decide to compensate me... maybe with a wide-screen TV..._

Wistfully he shook his head. Years in the insurance business had made him nothing if not a realist. The doc' had proved time and time again how much he cared for his creation, the endless physical examinations and psyche-tests his sworn affidavit to that effect. But indulgence? Concession to unsanctioned, counter-productive needs? That he would never receive from his suffocatingly attentive master. Theo had claimed more than once to be Michael's only friend, but he conveniently sidestepped all the emotional responsibilities engendered by the title.

But right now, there was someone who was on her way over, knowingly risking a clash with those she believed to be Internal Revenue officials, and unknowingly with forces much more sinister, all to rescue him from his 'paperwork' over the holiday. There was a true friend, just as she'd been for the previous eighteen years. _A friend, and so much more. _Michael remembered yesterday's encounter with a smile and his excitement renewed itself. _The opportunity to spend Christmas with my Lisie again..._ his goal firmly in mind, he moved purposefully towards his young guardian with shamefully premeditative thoughts.

"Thanks," He handed the cellphone back to its wary owner. "Uh, you know, there's something I meant to do before the doc' left... boy it's a good job he didn't spot it or I'd be in hot water for sure..." The corporal looked suitably inquisitive. "...I, ahh, hung some mistletoe just above the door outside and I guess I'd better get rid of it before ol' Theo's Christmas lenience is exhausted, huh?" Forrester looked intrigued but made no move to take the hint. Michael knew just what would rectify that. "...Because it's totally against regulations, I mean, I'm not really supposed to know the date if you think about it, so..." He knew the corporal hadn't heard anything beyond the strategically placed 'against regulations'. Predictably startled into action, the soldier was nevertheless vigilant in his precautions, gesturing with his gun for Michael to turn his back while he entered the code to the doorlock.

The three short, high-pitched pulses were Michael's cue. He whirled to face the young man, aiming a blow to his temple which struck home with the precision of a laser-guided missile. _Wonder if I have a built-in targeting system...?_ he speculated abstractly as his fist connected with unconsciously but meticulously calculated force. A blow to this sensitive area could easily kill, and while Morris would probably delight in his subject's 'graduation' from warrior to assassin, Michael swore he would never fulfil the Pentagon's twisted expectations of him in that area. He mumbled a belated apology as the soldier hit the floor and bent to retrieve the cellphone. 

"No calling for help now, corporal. Never works for me."

"Wow!" A voice gasped from somewhere close by. Michael looked to the open doorway, recognising the red station-wagon rolling to a stop in front of him immediately, and the awe-filled eyes which were fixed on the inert guard.

"Heather!" Lisa silenced her daughter with an insistent hiss. They must have pulled up just in time to see him immobilise Forrester, and Lisa's eyes were also wide as she looked from Michael to his unfortunate victim. "Mr. Newman! Get in!" She threw open the front passenger door.

Michael nudged the unconscious Forrester further inside with his foot and pulled the door shut, hearing the resolute click as the lock re-engaged. Almost as an afterthought, he noted the corresponding keypad on the outside wall and slammed his fist into it, crushing the buttons. The corporal was going nowhere.

Diving into the car, he had barely closed the door when Lisa pulled away, obviously fearful of an attack. A stab of concern flew briefly through his mind. If she had latched onto his own anxieties about being caught through their phone conversation, it could set her to thinking about the true nature of his work.

Luckily, she didn't bring it up again, choosing instead to launch into a well-thought-out apology for her behaviour at Thanksgiving, after which she began tell him about the Christmas dinner she would prepare tomorrow.

In all the haste of his escape, it hadn't really occurred to him that he would be spending the night in his own house, and while the thought thrilled him, it also worried him. It would be awkward, he knew, and he doubted that even Lisa had really thought her audacious strategy through to the end. It was a spur of the moment plan to release him for the monotony of IRS work over the holiday.

Tactfully he brought the point up, saying that he didn't want to put her to inconvenience and that of course he'd stay in a motel. He studied Lisa's face as she countered his suggestion with her own, expressing her fervent hope that the couch wouldn't be too uncomfortable for him. Smiling in happy defeat, Michael sat back and enjoyed being chauffeured in his own familiar red car by his own wife, in anticipation of a blissful family Christmas, even if only he knew he was family.

"That was so cool, the way you punched out that guy!" Heather's enthusiasm carried from the back seat. Michael grinned smugly to himself under his daughter's praise, but almost immediately his paternal instincts kicked in.

"Uh, Heather, that was... very wrong of me, you know. I mean, violence isn't the right way to go... don't get any ideas, huh?"

"Ideas? Me? Why would_ I_ ever need to resort to violence?" Heather's purposefully innocent tone brought memories flooding back to Michael - it was her favourite ploy. He waited expectantly for the accompanying quip. "... After all, if I need anyone flooring in a hurry I'll get you to do it."

"Heather," Lisa quietened her daughter gently, glancing at Michael's knowing smile. A grin crept across her own face then.

"She does have a point, though. I know you're with the government, but I didn't think the IRS were so... hands-on. Every time we've run into you so far there have been casualties. Is this a pattern I see emerging? Should I be worried?" Michael coughed in mild embarrassment, but answered sincerely.

"I'd never hurt you, Lisa, you or Heather. I won't let anyone else either." Lisa fell silent then, touched by his words but somehow unable to find a response. 

Dusk darkened smoothly into night as the journey continued in comfortable silence.

*****


	3. A Merry Little Christmas

**__**

"IN PULLUS VERITAS"

(IN CHICKEN, TRUTH)

__

Author: Gillian Slater

****

E-mail: LeoricGS@aol.com

****

Rating: PG -13

****

Disclaimer: As always, these characters do not belong to me, they are the property of the show's creators, and I'm borrowing them for my own sinister purposes...

****

PART THREE 

The couch was just as he remembered it, not that he'd slept on it many times during his marriage to Lisa. The last time was when she was heavily pregnant with Heather, and extremely uncomfortable. She'd urged him not to, but he knew she needed more room in the bed and his own considerable bulk wouldn't allow for it, so obligingly bedded down on the sofa.

That night he hadn't slept at all, feeling odd without her beside him, and nor did he now. As Michael lay awake on the couch he pondered what Lisa must have gone through since his 'death', missing the portly, rotund figure of her husband of eighteen years, his place now empty. He'd gotten used to sleeping alone in the double bed in his townhouse, having no choice but to comply with his enforced solitude, but then, the moment he fell asleep each night he was alone no longer. Lisa always joined him, erasing the loneliness of his second life, only to be cruelly stolen away by the 0600 alarm.

Though sleep evaded him, Michael felt even more nostalgic than usual in the pitch darkness of his old living room. It was past midnight by now - Christmas Day. Memories cascaded through his mind. Every year he would peek into Heather's room to make sure she was really asleep and not planning on making a midnight present-raid. Usually a late sleeper, he would be sure to get up first on Christmas morning, just to catch the eager expression on his daughter's face as she rushed downstairs, then the following frustration as she realised she was thwarted once again. It was a game, an annual challenge which he had never failed to take up, never until now. This year her father would not be at the bottom of the stairs with a wicked, triumphant grin.

A sharp pang of sympathy for Heather and Lisa knifed through him. He realised a little guiltily that since his rebirth he had been so absorbed in his own anguish, missing his family so desperately, he hadn't really considered what grief they must be going through, that their pain was infinitely greater because they believed him dead. For the first time, Michael felt lucky. At least he was comforted by the knowledge that they lived, they were out there even if he couldn't be.

His melancholy thoughts were gently but insistently punctuated, then, as the gnarled old grandfather clock in the corner chimed 1a.m. It had always looked just a little out of place in their maple-floored, tastefully decorated lounge, but it had belonged to Lisa's family a long time from what he understood, and would never think of asking her to get rid of it. He'd become quite fond of it himself, just like he was fond of everything in his house, especially the two sleeping women upstairs.

A sudden determined resolve flooded him, fortifying his low spirits_. It's Christmas Day, I'm with my wife and daughter whom I love, why in hell should I be depressed?_ Whatever their mood later in the day, whatever painful memories were dredged up for them, he'd be there to ease and cheer them. It's what he'd always done. This would be a holiday to remember. Feeling more peaceful, he lay back on his pillow and surrendered to the fatigue brought on by his emotional journey.

* * * * *

During the course of his intensive physical and mental reconditioning, Michael's exceptionally gifted body had repeatedly failed, much to Theo's chagrin, to develop an accurate sense of timing. In fact, he wondered whether in one of his frequent trips to the operating room he had been fitted with an 'internal clock' in the non-metaphorical sense in an effort to rectify this.

It was usually the bright light streaming though his windows and the doctor's unwelcome serenade which prompted him to rise. This morning, however, it was the hushed conversation taking place in the kitchen which gently invaded Michael's slumber. His acute hearing only half-awake, he managed to ascertain that it was a debate about himself. It was Heather's contention that they should wake him and get straight to the present-opening, but Lisa authoritatively denied her daughter's requests, saying that he worked very hard and needed rest. Michael smiled warmly at their banter, indulgently enjoying the exchange for a few more moments before rising to join them in the kitchen.

The quarrel ceased abruptly as he walked in, rubbing a hand over his face and raking his fingers through his unkempt hair.

"Morning..." he mumbled vaguely, the drowsiness still lingering in his eyes.

"Mr. Newman! You're up!" Heather cried excitedly. Michael smiled at her, knowing he'd won the battle for her as he caught the look of smug victory in the glance she slanted at her mom.

"Merry Christmas, Mr. Newman," Lisa greeted him with a bright smile, conveniently ignoring her defeat, "You want some coffee? Looks like you need it."

"Sure, thanks. What time is it."

"After ten."

"Really? That late?" He looked at his expectant daughter. "I guess you're way overdue to start then." He grinned widely.

"All right!" Heather punched the air and rushed past him, grabbing his hand as she did so and dragging him along with her into the living room.

"Heather!" Lisa tried in vain, then sighed and joined them.

Michael looked on with glee as Heather tore open her presents, every excited yell more resounding than the last. Lisa's eyes sparkled to see her daughter's wild abandon, and had their own measure of it when presented with her Christmas gifts. The look that crossed her face was a little different though, when she took out a small, neatly wrapped box and handed it to him with another one of those shy little smiles which Michael loved so much.

"Oh, you... shouldn't have, I mean... I didn't have time to..."

"No need," She cut in, "Really, your being here is my present." _Did I really just say that?_ Lisa suddenly blushed at having been so overtly forward, and with such a cheesy line at that. Michael politely pretended not to hear his wife's faint groan, turning his attention to the package. Inside the box was a silver plated wristwatch, with both analogue and digital displays, as well as the date.

"I, uh, noticed how you never seem to know what day it is, or what time, and I've never seen you with a watch on so..."

"It's perfect." Michael smiled broadly, slipping the watch onto his wrist and admiring it. At that moment he really wished she could know how important something so simple as knowing the date was to him, having been denied it for so long, and he was at the same time amazed that her infallible intuition about what would please him continued even now, when to her he was essentially a different person.

* * * * *

This Christmas was unlike most for the Wiseman family. It was Lisa and Heather's first without the man of the house, the man who had made their home complete, and it was Michael's first as a guest in his own home, having to maintain his polite façade when all he wanted to do was tell them both who he was, throw his arms around them, share the holiday as they always had.

It had been Lisa's contention, hotly contested by Heather, that due to the change in their situation, this year's Christmas dinner should be chicken instead of turkey, mainly because neither Lisa nor her daughter were particularly fond of turkey, and had really only provided it for Michael's benefit. Now that he was gone there didn't seem to be much of a point, to Lisa's mind, in serving a dish they weren't keen on. A little before dinnertime, the argument drew to its conclusion and Heather sulked at being summarily overruled by her mother, feeling it was betraying their sacred family tradition.

Michael kept his mouth firmly closed during this exchange, remembering with a sharp pang that he had no part in the way they dealt with his loss. However, as his wife and teenaged daughter stomped off in opposite directions leaving Michael loitering awkwardly in the space they left, he decided to follow the dejected Heather, and caught up with her sitting on the landing.

"Hey," she murmured.

"Hey. Listen, I know it's not my place but... well it's Christmas day, y'know, and your mom spent ages making the dinner..."

"You think I should apologise." It wasn't a question, and her defeated tone of voice told Michael she knew what she had to do the second she walked away from the argument, but stubbornly refused to cave.

"Could make dinner kinda uncomfortable if you don't," he reasoned.

"I guess," she muttered quietly, "But it's her fault. Why couldn't we just have turkey?"

"Because she's already cooked the chicken. You want her to spend another five hours on a turkey dinner and eat tomorrow?" She shook her head without looking up.

"Dad liked it." She mumbled dejectedly. Michael hesitated briefly, then touched her small chin, lifting her face to meet his concerned gaze.

"Well, how's about this - why don't you and your mom make a new tradition this year. Chicken on Christmas, huh?" The resistance in her eyes began to crumble.

"You wanna help me set the table?"

"Sure."

* * * * *

Michael's mouth watered and his eyes gleamed with anticipation as the three of them sat down to dinner. The table was magnificently laden with food, and the familiar dried flower arrangement centrepiece which Heather had obligingly dug out of the basement brought the memories of eighteen fabulous Christmasses flooding back to him.

"Since you're our guest, Mr. Newman, would you like to say Grace?" Lisa smiled warmly at him from his right, and on his left Heather's face beamed encouragement, all evidence of her previous mood erased. Accepting with a nod, Michael cleared his throat and began.

"Dear Lord, we thank you for bringing us all here today to celebrate Christmas as a... as_ friends_," He caught himself a moment before speaking the word 'family', "And also for this wonderful meal we're about to enjoy through your bounty. Amen."

"Amen." Lisa and Heather repeated in unison.

They tucked into their meals with gusto, and, quite contrary to the atmosphere of intimidation and danger that had prevailed at Thanksgiving dinner, Lisa felt more alive now than she had in months, with the mysterious Mr. Newman seated next to her, delight in his eyes as he chatted easily with her daughter. They definitely got on well, the two of them.

"Are those... spicy pecans?" Mr. Newman eyed the dish of nuts in the centre of the table with glee. Heather immediately passed them over.

"Yep - Mom's famous recipe!" Lisa blushed a little as her guest smiled his approval, his mouth full of nuts.

"Well... I've never met anyone else who likes them, so..." she shrugged off the praise, her mind puzzling that her late husband's favourite party snack should find its way back onto their table.

"How long are you staying?" asked Heather eagerly, "Because we always have to go to my uncle Roger's on New Years, and it' be great not to have to suffer alone."

"Heather!" Lisa chided her daughter, but couldn't keep the chuckle out of her voice. Mr. Newman's face, however, had taken on that troubled look again, she noticed.

"I...uh, I've gotta be back tonight actually." Lisa's brow raised in surprise.

"Tonight?! But I thought at least you could spend Boxing Day..."

"You don't know the people I work for. I'll probably take some serious heat just for being here in the first place."

__

His job. It always comes down to that, doesn't it? Lisa reminded herself, a slightly bitter streak emerging in her thoughts. Obviously it was plainly visible on her face, too, as Mr. Newman's eyes caught hers with an imploring gaze.

"I'm... so sorry... Mrs. Wiseman," he emphasised her name as though it were difficult to keep himself on formal terms, "You couldn't possibly know how much it means for me to be here..." His look was getting intense again, and shifting subtly from apology to something deeper. Lisa interrupted him softly, unable to keep the emotion from her voice.

"Then stay. Just for tonight." She was acutely aware of how much that sounded like an invitation for something else, and looked quickly at Heather. Her daughter's glance was moving back and forth from her to Mr. Newman, and she appeared to be holding her breath. So did Mr. Newman for that matter.

The silence was becoming unbearable. All three felt it, and ultimately it was Heather who felt compelled to break it, if only to excuse herself briefly from the room. It was clear to her that her mom needed to have some privacy with Mr. Newman, and she conveniently found an excuse to provide it.

"Why don't I go get dessert?" She exclaimed, causing Lisa to jump a little at the sudden speech. Heather rose and stole a sideways glance at Mr. Newman as she turned. His eyes were focused exclusively on her mom, and Heather was certain she knew that look. She headed into the kitchen, still listening intently for any continuation of the conversation.

Lisa let out a loud breath and looked away from his face. His gaze was so powerful, it would be too easy to get lost in his eyes and forget all of the questions to which she so desperately wanted the answers.

"Look, you blew off work to come here last night, so what's one more day? I thought your Doctor Morris is away for the holidays, isn't he?" An affirmative nod from Mr. Newman. "Well... who's to know?"

Michael saw the mischeivous glint creep back into her eyes, reminding of the early years of their marriage, when Lisa would convince him to call in sick on a Friday so they could take off for a romantic long weekend upstate. He had never been able to stand up to her persuasion, and time hadn't changed that fact at all. He smiled his acquiescence, and Lisa's answering grin was stunning.

"Staying?" Heather commented, returning with a large bowl of sherry trifle.

"Uh-huh." Gently he placed a hand over Lisa's.

"I knew it."

Heather's trifle was exquisite. So many months of bland, nutritional sustenance had done nothing to dull his lifelong passion for sweet foods. The spontaneous groan of satisfaction he let out at the first mouthful made Heather's small face light up with pride.

He quickly finished off his bowlful and, with a cheeky grin and an asking glance over at Lisa, spooned out a second large helping. 

"I just want to know how in hell you manage to stay looking like a world-class athlete with your sweet-tooth!"

"Oh, believe me," He answered through a mouthful of trifle, "This is a once in a lifetime treat!" He swallowed and laughed briefly, realising just how true that statement was. "I've never been allowed dessert back at the..." His expression changed abruptly as he caught himself a split-second before mentioning 'the facility'. "...Err, back at my... place." He covered lamely, diverting his gaze down into his half-empty bowl.

A wave of confusion swept over Lisa as his boyish delight fell suddenly into a painfully obvious cover-up. _Covering up what?_ She tried to keep the sudden curiosity out of her eyes as she gently countered.

"Yeah, your Doctor Morris doesn't seem much of a pudding man. But I still don't get why he keeps you on a diet. He acts like he's your mom or something! He actually slapped your hand away last time you went for the spicy pecans!"

"He knows what's best I suppose. He _is_ a doctor." Michael tried for wistful resignation in his dismissal, hoping Lisa would let the subject of his stern keeping lie. No such luck.

"But does he have to keep on such a tight leash? I mean, talk about taking you work home with you - he's always round at your place!"

"Well, I don't like going into the office, so he comes to me. Good compromise."

Heather noticed the resignation in Mr. Newman's downturned eyes and imagined the stern, dark face of the doctor they met at the subway entrance, his downright rudeness during the Thanksgiving incident... an expresion of righteous indignation came over her small face.

"You should quit. No, better than that - you should punch his lights out like you did with that guy yesterday. It's justifiable; he punched Uncle Roger! Why d'ya even go to work for him anyway? You don't need a doctor, I mean, have you _seen_ you?"

Lisa coughed emphatically, blushing, and Heather glanced at her but refused to take the hint, continuing her tirade.

"Probably not even a real doctor, just one of those mad-scientist-types who does crazy experiments..."

Michael's eyes flew to her indignant face, then, shocked to hear the truth tumble so easily from his daughter's lips.

Lisa saw the fear in her guest's eyes as Heather's rant continued along the same lines. _Something touched a nerve there_, she noted, intrigued. Her heartbeat had quickened, she knew, as she felt some hidden truth floating almost within grasp. _What is it I'm not getting?_

She knew there were things about his work which weren't as he'd made them out to be, and somehow it all came down to the mysterious Doctor Morris; the man who to all extents and purposes ruled Mr. Newman's oppressed existence. _The man with all the secrets?_

Unconsciously, she began to rearrange her facts with regard to the handsome stranger she'd discovered seemingly homeless on the street that night. She had a curious nature to be sure, but she couldn't explain the intense need to _know _this man, to really know him. It frustrated her that every question she could put an answer to only revealed another layer of secrets.

Looking into his deep, chocolate eyes with a determination unlike anything she'd felt before, she promised herself she would pry the truth from his lips before the day was done.

* * * * *


	4. A Sensitive Issue

**__**

"IN PULLUS VERITAS"

(IN CHICKEN, TRUTH)

__

Author: Gillian Slater

****

E-mail: LeoricGS@aol.com

****

Rating: PG -13

****

Disclaimer: As always, these characters do not belong to me, they are the property of the show's creators, and I'm borrowing them for my own sinister purposes...

****

PART FOUR 

Around the immaculately polished mahogany dining table, Lisa, Heather and Michael sighed collectively in satisfaction, each thoroughly stuffed with Lisa's delectable roast chicken and Heather's heavenly sherry trifle. 

Lisa turned to her daughter, a cheeky glint in her eye. "Sooo, what about these dishes?" Heather's face immediately adopted her most pleading expression.

"Mom, my surprise!"

"Oh, well then you'd better get started, huh?" Heather beamed an virtually leaped from her chair to race into the living room.

"I got it, don't worry." Mr. Newman stood, dishes already in hand. Lisa watched as he went into the kitchen, a small grin of anticipation creeping across her face before she followed.

The sink was already half-full of bubbly water as she joined him. They started to wash up in silence, a sudden appreciation for the simple domesticity of the moment welling up between them. Somehow, washing up together felt so... _right._

However, not to be distracted, Lisa began to formulate her plan of interrogation.

"So you think the chicken was a success?"

"Oh, yeah. Indescribable, really."

"Not the kind of fare a downtrodden tax-man gets regularly, then?" Mr. Newman shook his head, smiling that stunning smile.

"Worth risking your life for? Or was that guard really carrying a water-pistol?"

Her eyes peered shrewdly sideways at him, evaluating his expression, ready to read in his face what he didn't say openly. Knowing her talent for exacting the truth from even the most unwilling subject, Michael tried to keep the conversation at a light, casual level. 

"Oh, him.... well, I feel kinda guilty about that actually. Shouldn't have hit him... He was just, ah, checking on me to see if I needed anything..."

"Oh, no. No, there was a lock on your door. I saw it, well, before you put your fist through it, but it's got me wondering why on earth you don't think about suing the IRS for abuse of manpower or something. It's a_ federal_ holiday - which means even the government stops work today, and if the President himself ordered me to work Christmas day, I'd tell him to go stick it. I just hope you were getting paid a king's ransom for it that's all."

"Huh, not nearly enough."

"And all the while your Doctor Morris is living it up someplace." The thought made Michael laugh out loud all of a sudden. At Lisa's quizzical look, he said,

"Well, the thought of the Doc' 'living it up' it's just so... no, he'll be having a quiet day in, and anyway I don't believe he'll forget about work for a second." Lisa left a significant pause in the interrogation, for suspense and dramatic effect, deciding she was done with preliminaries. Down to the real questions.

"I don't s'pose you'd care to let me know what you actually do?" Michael's puzzled look was convincing.

"Uh, IRS?" He ventured. Lisa shook her head slowly, and Michael looked at her warily, suddenly fearful.

"No way," she continued, "Does Internal Revenue lock it's guys up with armed guard. You're not some kind of an international spy are you?" She didn't wait for an answer, plunging ahead, "And come to think of it I've seen you manhandled around by gun-toting soldiers more than once. Like that time on the subway, they dragged you into a van and took you there..." she stopped, realising she'd given away the fact that she followed him that night. Michael, however, was too flustered to pick up on this, floundering for an excuse.

"They can be a bit heavy-handed sometimes, it's true, but really you gotta expect government people to be that way..."

"Like you? Leaping from car-roofs and dodging traffic to catch psycho-killer-eggmen? Or was he behind on his taxes too?" Her tone had a hard edge to it, a sarcasm which veiled the accusation as she pushed closer and closer to the dangerous truth.

"Lisa don't," He cautioned, "Don't go there..."

"Why not? What's there to hide?" She asked it openly now, "Clearly something, or you wouldn't tell a blatant lie to someone you seem to enjoy kissing at every available opportunity--" she stopped short, blushing slightly, realising that one again she'd inadvertently brought up the point of their frequent moments of intimacy. Sighing, she turned back to the matter in hand, her voice a little softer. "I just want to know you better, I mean I don't even know your first name for heaven's sake!"

"Michael." His voice was a whisper, and Lisa felt his gentle acquiescence as he breathed his name, even as she was momentarily thrown by his soft admission.

"Wha...?"

"My first name. It's Michael."

"But that's..." she lowered her face, and her tone matched it automatically. "That was my husband's name."

"I'm sorry. He, uh, had an accident, right?"

"Yes." Her eyelids closed tightly for a moment as she quelled the threatening tears, then shook her head. When she raised her eyes to his they once again held suspicions, accusations. "Yeah, but you don't really want to know about that. You're changing the subject. You always change the subject, and I know I'm no government hot-shot, hell I'm just a lonely widow, but that tells me that there something fishy going on here. I mean, you know things... and sometimes you'll say something that just sounds... What aren't you telling me?"

"I don't know what to tell you Lisie, it's..."

"Wait! What... you just called me..." Michael nearly bit his tongue. How could he have been so careless?!

"_'Lisie?'_ That's what Michael, my _husband_ always called me. How do you know...?"

"Look, I'd better go. I don't mean to stir up anything... unpleasant for you. If I've offended you somehow I'm deeply sorry..."

"No, no, you just confused me. But then, that's all you ever do. You confuse the hell out of me, and then you kiss me and then I'm ever more baffled about you than I was before..." Her shoulders slumped as if in defeat, although she'd already won more of the battle than Michael wished. "I guess that must be your job, huh? The United States Government for some reason wants to turn me completely on my head so's I feel like I'm going crazy, and you're a professional misinformation operative, am I right?"

"Something like that." He tried to turn away as she studied his face intently, but somehow her questioning eyes held his in deadlock. Without knowing why, she searched for even the smallest resemblance between this dynamic young agent and her placid, solidly dependable husband. They were so alike in some ways, just the most abstract, insignificant seeming details, but in essentials there was nothing to connect them. But wasn't it the little things which defined the individual? 

"Hey, you two come look!" Heather's insistent voice drifted into the kitchen, scattering Lisa's disturbing contemplations.

"What's that, sweetie?" Lisa shook her perplexity off and walked through to the lounge with Michael close behind. The room was completely dark.

"Okay, I'm about to turn on my lights, you ready?"

"Hit it."

Heather flicked a switch by the socket and the Christmas tree was immediately speckled with coloured lights, interspersed with artistically placed decorative baubles and tinsel. Suddenly, the fairy lights began to flicker, and Heather's proudly beaming face became a touch concerned.

"Oh, no! There's gotta be a wire loose or something." She jiggled the wire and the lights flickered still faster. There was a dull thud as Michael hit the floor behind Lisa, and she turned to find him no longer standing there. In the strobe-lit lounge she peered about and said his name questioningly, only to stumble over him when she tried to move back towards the kitchen.

"Oh my god! Mr. Newman!? Heather - get the lights!" She exclaimed quickly, kneeling beside him.

"What's wrong, mom?" Heather fumbled for the main light switch, shielding her eyes momentarily as the room was bathed in harsh brightness. She looked quickly from her mother to Michael's inert form.

Lisa's shocked face hovered over him, repeating his name intently and pleading for him to 'snap out of it'. His eyes stared vacantly into hers and beyond, unfocused. Lisa, usually so cool-headed in a crisis, quickly felt panic begin to rise within her. He looked for all the world like he was dead, but she reassured herself that that couldn't be, bringing her cheek close to his mouth and feeling the faint, warm breath touch her skin. She felt his pulse. Fairly slow and constant, but then she was no doctor. 

"Doctor!" She cried, knowing immediately the best course of action, and at once being altogether unsure of a beginning.

"Is it a heart attack? Should I call an ambulance?" Heather asked worriedly over Lisa's shoulder.

"No, honey, just, ahh... let me think. Help me put him on the couch." Together they easily lifted Michael's light frame and laid their unblinking patient out on the sofa.

"What can I do?" The teenager wrung her hands helplessly, a note of panic ringing in her own voice also.

"I think we've gotta get hold of his boss - uh, Theodore Morris wasn't it? - yeah, he's a doctor, and he knows Mr. Newman. He might even be _his_ doctor, I don't know, but he's the guy we've got to talk to."

Wracking her brains for a solution, she swept her gaze over him and his surroundings, only to find the answer staring her in the face, in the form of the sleek black cellphone lying on the coffee table at the end of the sofa.

"The phone!" She cried, excitedly, seizing it, "It belonged to that soldier he knocked out, and if this Doctor Morris ordered that guy to guard Mr. Newman it makes sense the number would be in here." She hastily navigated the cell's complex menu system, scrolling through the numbers until she found a 'Doctor T. Morris' listed.

"Please, pick up..." she murmured fervently as she pressed the phone to her ear and heard the insistent ringing on the other end.

"Morris." The doctor's tone was gruff and filled with annoyance, and Lisa wondered momentarily if the man was _ever_ in a good mood, even at Christmas. Her speculation was cut off abruptly then, as she looked once more at Mr. Newman, waving a hand deliberately in front of his staring eyes.

"Hello. It's, uh, Lisa Wiseman here, a friend of..."

"Mrs. Wiseman?!" The doctor was clearly startled, but recovered quickly, an interrogative tone edging into his stern voice. "How did you get this number?"

"It's kind of a long story, and one we really don't have time to get into. Doctor, Mr. Newman's ill - he's collapsed."

"Collapsed? Where?"

"At my house." She felt a brief pang of guilt at blowing Mr. Newman's cover, since he was supposed to be locked away in his little townhouse doing whatever mysterious work he did, the truth of which she hadn't yet been able to ascertain.

"At_ your_ house?! Mrs. Wiseman, tell me _exactly_ what happened." The words were spoken slowly and emphatically, and a touch of the panic Lisa fought down in herself was distinctly audible in the doctor's purposefully clear enunciation.

"Well, it's like I said, he collapsed. One minute he was standing right behind me and the next - bang! On the floor. His eyes are open but he's just staring, like he's in a trance or something..." A memory stirred suddenly as she said the words, of something her husband had once explained to her. She continued to describe his condition to Dr. Morris with this in mind, coming to a hesitant but startling conclusion. "...In fact, if I didn't know better I'd swear he had photosensitivity syndrome."

Morris, listening with growing concern to Mrs. Wiseman's sit-rep, was at once puzzled and mildly impressed with her attempted diagnosis. "Photosensitivity syndrome? Hmmm... what makes you say that?"

"It's a condition my husband had. He told me that sometimes certain kinds of lights could make him blank out just like this."

Alarm raced through the scientist's mind, closely followed by dozens of unanswerable questions. If indeed her suspicions were correct, why wasn't this mentioned anywhere in Mr. Wiseman's past medical records? Why, if he knew he had such a rare neurological condition, hadn't he said anything about it before? And most importantly, why did this damned thing choose to manifest itself right at this moment, when it could potentially blow the lid off the whole project?! If Mrs. Wiseman made the relatively simple connection between her husband and the man she now had unconscious in her house...

"I'll be there as soon as possible. I'll be one hour at most. Just... make him comfortable..."

"Well, shouldn't I take him to a hospital? You could meet us there..."

"No!" The doctor cried hastily, then immediately forced his tone to soften so as not to raise her suspicions. "Uh, no, he shouldn't be moved. Not at all. Don't call _anyone_ else out for him, Mrs. Wiseman. _I'm_ his doctor and I'm on my way."

"Okay, if you say so. Right then, see you --" But the line was already dead. She stared at the phone indignantly for a second and huffed her annoyance before slamming it shut. Kneeling down beside her inanimate patient, she checked his breathing and pulse again. No change. She sent Heather for another pillow and blanket.

"Mr. Newman..." she urged gently, "Come on, wake up, please..." Then, trembling slightly at the idea, she leant close to his face and whispered, "Michael..." She thought she felt his breath quicken a little. _It must really be his name,_ she thought, _the way he reacts when I say it... Just like I reacted when he called me 'Lisie'..._ She gazed intently into his vacant eyes, wishing fervently that she could know more about him, about how he knew all those things, how he made her feel... She brushed a fingertip lightly across his lips, hoping for some sort of spark, some sign of life, but he was unresponsive.

"Mom, what's photivity syndrome anyway?" Heather's question preceded her stumbling entrance into the room with about eight pillows stacked up in her arms, blocking her view. Lisa quickly drew back from her close-quarters position with Mr. Newman, blushing a little as her daughter peered around her tower of pillows.

"Ah, it's 'photo_sensitivity_' syndrome," Lisa repeated the word with emphasis, "And it's a thing your father had - something to do with the way the brain reacts to light. He found out about a year before the accident. He was in a car one time and he just spaced-out, like that," She clicked her fingers expressively and waved a hand to indicate Michael, "Collapsed at the wheel. The doctor said there was nothing to worry about as long as he took pills..." She jumped up suddenly. "Wait a minute - the pills! I think there's still some..." She raced up the stairs into the bathroom and began rifling through the medicine cabinet, eventually seizing an opaque brown bottle and hearing a satisfying rattle as she shook it.

"Heather, can you get a glass of water?" Lisa called to her daughter as she came down the stairs. Heather quickly obliged, and hovered anxiously over Michael as Lisa took out two pink capsules.

"Should you be doing that? You always said it's dangerous to take medicine that's not yours."

"I know, I know, but I can't think what else to do. If he _does_ have the same condition, this could bring him out of it." She rolled the capsules around in her palm, indecision filling her features briefly, then opened Michael's mouth and placed the pills on his tongue. "Hold his head up," She ordered Heather, and gave him the water, watching as he swallowed the liquid and medicine automatically.

"Let's hope that does the trick."

* * * * *


	5. What’s Up Doc

**__**

"IN PULLUS VERITAS"

(IN CHICKEN, TRUTH)

__

Author: Gillian Slater

****

E-mail: LeoricGS@aol.com

****

Rating: PG -13

****

Disclaimer: As always, these characters do not belong to me, they are the property of the show's creators, and I'm borrowing them for my own sinister purposes...

****

PART FIVE 

Forty-five minutes passed without a change in Michael's state, and Lisa and Heather sat on the floor with their backs resting against the couch he lay on. The TV was on with the volume low but neither was really concentrating on the programme, instead glancing alternately from the clock on the wall and behind to their guest.

"Where _is_ he?" Heather moaned for the fifth time.

"He'll be here soon, honey," She soothed, as much for her own reassurance as her daughter's, "He did say he'd be an hour." She looked blankly back at the television, hardly noticing the warning message on the screen until the significance hit her._ "The following programme contains strobe-lighting effects which may effect some viewers with epilepsy."_ In her mind she hastily ran through the events of the early evening, remembering Heather's excitement about her Christmas tree lights, her disappointment when they started to dim and flicker rapidly...

"Oh! Hey, I just thought of something! Heather are your tree-lights still plugged in?"

"Uh-huh, but they don't stay on," She murmured dejectedly.

"Michael, uh, your dad told me that it was flickering lights that caused his blackout... and that the same thing could wake him up again. Turn them back on!" She went to stand by the main lightswitch and waited for Heather's signal. Simultaneously they flicked their switches and the corner of the darkened living room was again dotted with tiny coloured lights which began to blink randomly at speed as Heather moved the wires.

"Hey, nice effect." Lisa rushed towards Michael, who was nodding approvingly at the Christmas tree.

Heather jumped up, accidentally pulling the out the plug she was holding and plunging the room into pitch blackness. "Mr. Newman! You're awake!" Her excited yell punctuated the darkness as she too ran to the couch.

"Oh, now the power's out." Michael commented.

"Heather..." Lisa began, but saw there was no need as her daughter practically leaped to the main switch and turned the lights on again. Michael closed his eyes briefly against the stabbing glare, shielding them with his hand whilst his vision adjusted.

"Are you okay? Can you see all right? How many fingers am I holding up?" Lisa's questioned him hastily. Michael propped himself up into a reclining position on one elbow with a puzzled look.

"Uhh, yes, yes and four. Did, uh, you two start the Christmas games without me, 'cause I.."

"You don't remember? No, of course not, why would you? You've been unconscious the whole time."

"Whoa, back up there! Unconscious?" He looked at the faces of his wife and daughter, also realising that he was for some reason laid on the couch once again.

"Well, I think Heather's tree-lights effected you. You slipped into some kind of trance..."

"Like a coma!" Heather interjected.

"A coma?"

"Yeah. I've been in one, too. Did you see an angel?"

"Ahem, no. No angels... listen, you're not making the best kind of sense, the two of you."

"Oh, gosh! Maybe he's got amnesia - he doesn't remember anything!" Heather suggested, the anxiety returning to her small face.

"Heather, quiet!" Lisa chastised, "Let me explain. Mr. Newman, you remember Heather switching on the Christmas tree lights, right?" He nodded. "Well, right after that you collapsed on the floor, and you've been catatonic ever since, got it?"

"Ohh," Michael breathed, the realisation suddenly hitting him. His condition. Strangely enough, since his 'rebirth' he'd never even given it a thought. In his old life he had medication for it, but...

"Yeah, and mom guessed you must have photosensitivity syndrome." Heather copied the word exactly in her most authoritative tone, underpinned with a boastful smirk, but Michael gasped as she said it.

"Well, I guess there are all sorts of reasons..." He covered quickly.

"My, ah, husband had this condition, and it seemed just like what was wrong with you. Luckily I had some of his pills left. Did you know about this at all?" Michael floundered, feeling keenly that he couldn't tell her a blatant lie and say no, but to admit that it was the exact same condition would only put her back on the mind-track she was on earlier, which was altogether too dangerous for her to be considering. Thankfully, at that moment the grandfather clock interrupted with its familiar, gentle chimes, rescuing Michael from his predicament.

"Ten o' clock. I almost forgot, I... I'm sorry Mr. Newman, but I called your boss."

"Dr. Morris? You called the doc'?" Michael's stomach clenched in dread.

"Yeah, I, I didn't know what else to do. He's on his way, he should be here any minute."

"I've gotta go." Michael leaped up from the couch, fighting down a wave of dizziness as his overzealous equilibrium system kicked in. "He _can't_ find me here."

"He already knows! Hey, I know you skipped work but that's hardly a hanging offence."

"No, it's a shooting offence," He remarked bitterly, "And I'd rather not ruin another one of your holidays with violence." He looked around for his jacket as Lisa continued to plead with him.

"Mr. Newman -- _Michael_, don't leave, really, it'll be fine."

"With respect, you couldn't possibly realise what you've gotten into here."

"Well, I would if you'd just _tell_ me!"

"I can't. It's just safer this way, trust me. I'll leave, he'll pick me up someplace... _else_... and hopefully you'll live through the night." As he strode quickly to the door and opened it, he discovered his jacket draped over the hall table and slipped it on, only to have it grabbed tightly by his wife, anger blazing across her features.

"You are NOT walking out of here until I get an explanation, Mr. Newman. IF that's really your name. Somehow I don't think so anymore. And your 'Doctor Morris'? What kind of medicine does he dole out in the IRS, huh? I don't give a damn how 'top secret' all this is supposed to be - I want to know how it is that you know everything about me, my husband, my daughter, my house... and how come you just happen to have the exact same _extremely rare_ brain condition Michael did... _Michael_?"

As she once again went through her mental checklist of all his strange behaviour, all his inexplicably similar qualities, all those coincidences, that most outrageous idea once again began to insinuate itself into her thoughts, alarming her so much she had to forcibly block it out. There was just no way...

"Lisie, you don't understand. They will kill you..."

"Who's _they_? The Government? You're supposed to be working for them."

"I'm sorry... I shouldn't have come here..."

"No, you should. I'm glad you did, because it's clear to me that whatever dodgy business you get into with your government work, you wanted to get out, and I helped. Now I think you owe me some answers."

He saw the fire in her eyes, the determination, and returned her look with equal obstinacy. She refused to back away from her dangerous questions, he refused to satisfy her curiosity. Michael raised his eyes and groaned his frustration, for the first time catching sight of the mistletoe hanging directly above them. Lisa still clutched his jacket tightly by the sleeve, unrelenting, and Michael knew only one thing would distract her now.

In a sudden movement, he bent his head to hers and caught her lips in an assertive kiss. Given the circumstances, he'd expected her to struggle briefly, maybe pull away. He even thought he'd earned himself a slap in the face, but clearly his theory had proved correct - she was so distracted, so affected by him that she leaned into the kiss, her need mirroring his own.

What had begun as a diversionary tactic to enable his escape spun rapidly out of control as Michael began to lose himself in his raging emotions. It was like the accident, his death, the change - all of it, had never happened and he was truly her husband again. He was trying so hard to keep his identity from her, but all of a sudden he couldn't remember any of the reasons which had been so compelling only moments ago.

Lisa's fierce resolve melted the moment his lips touched hers, and as her rational, reasoning mind switched off and she surrendered to her overwhelming feelings, she discovered that there was more truth in this, in the way he kissed her, than in anything else he'd said or done. She also realised that, being so desperate to find a logical explanation for him, she'd refused to acknowledge the radical notion already formed in her mind. She'd told herself it wasn't possible, but now, with her eyes closed, giving in to the sensations of the moment, sensations she knew so well, she could almost believe...

Heather gasped inaudibly as she saw Mr. Newman move into the kiss. She'd expected the argument to heat up, to hear her mother's voice become more angry, for his refusals to become more adamant, perhaps even for a full-blown fight to break out, but not this. She stood rooted to the spot, feeling keenly that it was impolite to stare at the two of them as they kissed, but for some reason not wanting to alert them of her presence, to disturb them. _But why not? _she asked herself. _Because I don't want to spoil the moment..._ She couldn't begin to explain why she was so pleased to see her mother in another man's embrace. Surely, she should feel a little offence, a sense that her father's memory was being betrayed, but there was nothing of the sort, just the strangely comforting sense that this was... right. She took the small, silent steps necessary to get from the hallway back into the living room so they were just out of view, satisfied that once again she could take the credit for their progress - she'd hung the mistletoe there herself.

As the consuming desire in their embrace mellowed into tender acceptance, they gently broke off the kiss to study each other's expression - hers still questioning, but with a new touch of awe to her curiosity, his now relaxed and perfectly contented to show the love he'd tried to conceal, to let it linger in his happy eyes. Their faces still only inches apart, Lisa examined his finely chiselled features, noting how incongruous such a calm, sanguine gaze seemed, issuing from the eyes of this impulsive, adventurous young man before her. She'd seen him engaged in clearly life-threatening tasks with vibrant ease, and yet now he seemed look out with a mature expression beyond his years. She could almost swear a different man spoke to her silently from within his exciting exterior.

"Michael..." she began hesitantly, her tone so soft it was almost a whisper. But her half-formed plea was suddenly lost as they both caught sight of the dark figure looming in the doorway, the fury blazing across his face promising serious and deadly repercussions.

Doctor Morris looked on with an ire previously unknown to even him. He was wounded to the quick by Michael's blatant disregard for his authority. He thought that he'd at least earned some respect from his headstrong pupil, especially when he had acquiesced and allowed him to stay in his own place over the holiday. Now, witnessing the moment of intimacy between his treacherous subject and his wife, the way she whispered his name - his _true_ name, there was no doubt that he had callously thrown secrecy to the wind and told her everything. It was the final straw, this time it was a fatal mistake. He advanced with intent etched into his cold expression.

Michael's arms fell from about Lisa's waist as he whirled to face the doctor, bringing his spread hands up placatingly.

"Doc'..." He began ineffectually.

"It's over, Mr. Wiseman. Finished." He hissed, "You've betrayed my trust once too many. The lab - now."

"No, it's not like that, I didn't... tell..." His eyes widening in realisation, he looked back at Lisa, whose face was a picture of shock.

"Wiseman..." she breathed, "He said..." She put a hand to her forehead, trembling slightly. Losing her balance slightly in the face of the revelation, she shuffled backwards to the little telephone-seat in the hall and slumped down on it. Heather, who had been tactfully hiding just around the corner now dashed forward to stand beside her mother, staring intently at both Michael and Dr. Morris, her eyes full of confusion.

"Doc'! She doesn't know, I swear... or she _didn't_..." Michael whispered, leaning forward in an attempt to maintain the appearance of secrecy. Morris did not reply. His hand had flown to his mouth in a belated gesture, and his eyes were tightly closed as he mentally rebuked himself. Given the position of Mr. and Mrs. Wiseman when he arrived, he had, in his rage, simply assumed... He opened his eyes to glare at the young man before him.

"Get in the car." The voice was chillingly hollow.

"But..."

"Get in the car, now."

Michael glanced back with a pained expression at his wife and daughter, wanting so much to run to them, to calm their fears and confusions... it was a husband's job, a father's job, but he was also sensible of the magnitude of the situation, and the mental state of the irate doctor. He'd overstretched his bounds for sure this time, and even he wasn't brave enough to push any further. He nodded in defeat and headed past Morris towards the limo. As he cast a quick look back he saw the door slam shut behind him, and his anxiety jumped up a notch. There was no telling what the doc' would do.

"Okay! Just what the hell is going on here? Whatever it is I'm sure it's all your fault!" Heather's outburst jolted Morris out of his dark thoughts. With one hand he turned the lock of the door, whilst with the other he reached inside his coat and put his hand on the small pistol there. The metal felt smooth and cold - appropriate for the task. All of his vehement threats sounded so empty to him now, as he faced their chilling completion. Bringing out the revolver, he levelled it at Mr. Wiseman's only child, the debate searing though his brain with neither argument gaining the upper hand.

Heather equalled his piercing glance with one of her own most withering looks, copied meticulously from her mom's most furious episodes, practised and inflicted on all her junior-school antagonists to surprising effect.

"What, are you gonna just shoot us now?" Heather asked mockingly, impulsively stepping forward to meet the threat head-on, apparently unafraid of the consequences.

"Heather, get back!" Lisa hissed, trying to grab her daughter's sleeve, the shock she was undergoing now replaced by immediate fear. Heather stepped smartly out of the way and continued her fearless approach.

"You know, you think your such a top-dog with your expensive suit and your government-speak and your 'orders', but when you pull a gun you're just like every other criminal on a macho-trip."

"You've got a brave girl, here, Mrs. Wiseman." Morris commented, a sad smile breaking through the mask of his enforced detachment.

"So, after you blow our brains out, without even telling us why, which I personally think is seriously unfair, then what?" Heather barged ahead, "Sirens, front-page headlines: 'Crazed scientist shoots innocent schoolgirl', there'll be a state-wide man-hunt : 'suspect still at large', you know. Unless you've got a licence to kill or something." Heather glared daggers at the man, somehow sensing that his resolve was crumbling, determined to resist him to the last, to make him back down, even if she felt ready to drop under the pressure at any moment.

Morris saw the fire in the teenager's eyes and knew it was her father's, knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the same unconquerable spirit leaped and blazed inside his little girl, too, and that whatever the outcome of his own thoughtless blunder, the revolver would play no part in it. Mrs. Wiseman stood beside Heather, and the two of them watched the cold expression melt from his face, and the gun hang limply in his loosened grip.

Morris began to consider what his next step would be, his normally hair-trigger responsive, acute mind giving him no help, when a loud crash intruded on his non-thoughts and he was propelled forwards by the swinging door.

Michael's force was calculated exactly right so as to bust the lock and open the door without knocking it off its hinges entirely. It was his door, after all, and he was sure that after this little episode the government wouldn't be sufficiently enamoured of him to pay for it. He saw the small black pistol skate across the floor away from Theo's sprawled form only to be purposely trapped by Heather's foot. He looked proudly at his startled but satisfied daughter and winked. She returned the wink and grinned, forgetting for a moment of the trauma she'd been subjected to on account of his identity crisis, and slid the gun back towards him. He retrieved it and without thinking crushed the short barrel effortlessly, removing the most immediate threat to his family.

"Whoa!" Heather exclaimed, as Michael tossed the warped revolver casually out of the door. "How'd you do that?"

He didn't reply. He would say nothing further without Morris' permission. It was not his usual attitude for sure, but he was acutely aware of the precariousness of this situation. Lisa and Heather had now been alerted to the fact the he was in no way normal, and were possibly realising who he really was thanks to the doc's fateful slip-of-the-tongue. But he also knew that right now he had to bring the scientist back on his side, rather than the Pentagon's, otherwise this Christmas could very well be the last for his wife and daughter.

Michael glared darkly at Morris for a moment longer, then bent and dragged the flattened doctor roughly up from the floor, staring fiercely into the eyes of the man who had dared to pull a gun on his precious daughter. What he saw in those eyes, however, was not the determined self-righteousness he had become so accustomed to seeing, and the look of utter helplessness on the scientist's dark face was completely new. His surprise at this was enough to halt the storm of fury which had been rising steadily in Michael, and he simply set Morris down on his feet and turned his mind to the other stuation brewing in his hallway. 

"Ah, listen, before we all get to the angry accusations stage, why don't you two just go sit in the living room for a sec, huh? I need to talk to Doctor Morris in private." Lisa glared at him, as if to question how he dared to run out on her after such a turbulent few minutes. He left the drooping doctor's side momentarily and reached out one hand to his wife. She flinched back from it at first, but then allowed him to place it gently on her shoulder.

"You'll have your explanations, Lisie. I promise. Just a minute alright?" She put her own arm about Heather's shoulders and nodded, allowing her daughter to lead her into the other room. Michael turned back to Morris and gestured for him to move outside the door.

*** * *


	6. Miracles Of Science

**__**

"IN PULLUS VERITAS"

(IN CHICKEN, TRUTH)

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Author: Gillian Slater

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E-mail: LeoricGS@aol.com

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Rating: PG -13

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Disclaimer: As always, these characters do not belong to me, they are the property of the show's creators, and I'm borrowing them for my own sinister purposes...

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PART SIX 

Closing the door as much as was possible with the splintered wood around the lock, Michael looked squarely at his creator. Once a detested authority figure with an ever-constant expression of superiority, now he had a bitterly self-depreciating look about him, mingled with one of sorrow as though he believed his whole, precious project was a failure.

"Look, doc', I can see you're less than thrilled with all of this, but I want to say that... well, this isn't what I wanted either. I mean, I know I've moaned and complained about wishing Lisa and Heather could know it all, but this... it wasn't the way..."

"I can't believe it." Morris said in his hollow tone, seeming not to have heard any of Michael's commiserations, "All this time I've lectured you about secrecy, about being guarded in all things, and I was supposed to be your example. Your identity was to be forgotten, erased, but I've brought it all to light with one foolish assumption. _Me_. I did it."

"Doc', it's not all your fault. I can see how you would have thought I'd spilled the truth... the way we were..."

"Indeed. The way you were." He glowered at his subject then, "Tell me this, Mr. Wiseman, if you hadn't explained your identity to her, how it is that the two of you came to be so intimate?"

"Well, I think she kind of likes me for who she thinks I am - 'Mr. Newman'. God, I'm sorry Doc', this is all my doing..."

"Yes. It is." Came the harsh reply.

Michael stopped his apology short, a touch confused at the doctor's sudden change of heart. He'd expected Morris' guilt-trip to last a little longer...

"This all began with you disobeying my orders to stay in the townhouse over Christmas. For that matter none of this would have happened if you had come with me to my sister's in the first place, so yes, you started it." He softened his tone a little then, and lowered his eyes once more. 

"However, I won't deny there were other contributing factors. The fact that you had some kind of episode right before Mrs. Wiseman's eyes didn't help - and you and I are going to have a talk about that at some point - but even that might not have blown your cover completely. No, I'm man enough to take my share of the blame, Mr. Wiseman, and purely in the interests of sparing the life that I spent over ten years creating, I'll testify as to my part in this before the Pentagon's review board. I can't guarantee that they won't decide to terminate your wife and daughter..."

"Terminate! No, no, Doc' this is NOT going to the Pentagon!" Michael said firmly.

"Mr. Wiseman, my superiors..."

"...Don't need to know one single piece of what went on here tonight! Right now your superiors, right up to the President, are all going to bed stuffed with Christmas dinner and too much wine. There's no way they could get wind of this unless we tell 'em."

"Which we have to."

"And wind up on their hit-list yourself ? Fact is Doc',_ I_ cost a couple of billion bucks but_ you_ - you can be replaced." His tone was one of hard-edged mimicry of the top project officials, threatening the very real consequences that Morris seemed to ignore out of unwavering loyalty to his government. "Even if they don't kill you for exposing their whacked-out Frankenstein behaviour to civilians, you'll be off the project. Your _life's work_ will be given to someone else, and I'll lose Lisa and Heather! Now, tell me again why we have to inform the Pentagon?"

Morris thought seriously about Michael's words. He knew his perceptive creation told the truth, knew just how his superiors would deal with him and the Wisemans.

There was a long, tense silence as Morris pondered the weighty decision upon which the entire furtue of four lives would rest.

"It's true," he admitted finally, grudgingly, "And I suppose this had better remain a profound secret even from our own. But Mr. Wiseman, if they ever tell anyone..."

"No way. I'll stake my second existence on this, doc'. Our secret is theirs. But first, they need to know exactly _what_ they're not allowed to tell anyone. So far, they've noticed similarities, seen me crush a gun with two fingers and you've said my name in front of them. Right now all they are is confused, and I - _we_ owe them an explanation." He gestured expressively towards his living room. "It's your experiment, doc'. I know how you like to brag about the miracles of science - now's your chance."

Morris gave a loud huff of reluctance, but headed back into the house. Lisa rose automatically as Morris entered the living room, closely followed by Michael.

"Okay, time's up gentlemen. I think I've been patient enough. We've earned our explanation, so spill it." Morris stared hard at Mrs. Wiseman. One thing he would _not_ do was take orders from a civilian. He briefly considered barking a reprimand at her, but from somewhere deep in his mind came the reminder that right now she was not only confused, but probably scared witless by the events of the evening. He took a calming breath and softened his tone a little.

"Why don't we all sit down, and you'll get your wish." Lisa complied, and Morris sat opposite her in an armchair. Michael pulled up a soft footstool and sat at Morris' side. The scientist cleared his throat several times, searching for the right words.

"Firstly you should be made aware that under no circumstances is this information..."

"_Who in the hell are you people!?_" Lisa boomed, suspense pushing her anger back to the fore. Morris waited for the tension to recede again before continuing in a low, serious voice which was nevertheless underscored with a touch of that vanity Michael had seen so clearly in the doctor.

"The answer to your question has taken me a little over ten years' work. A top-secret branch of the United States Government commissioned me to research and ultimately to construct a synthetic human being. The perfect warrior of the future - a man engineered to be stronger, faster, more resilient, with enhanced hearing and vision, a man so superior that he could be entrusted with the most dangerous and secret missions and that he could even potentially fight, and win, a war. An advanced soldier so powerful..."

"Doc'!" Michael cut in, suddenly finding a sense of modesty that he was sure hadn't been there before, but now squirmed uncomfortably as Morris listed his extraordinary capabilities. "Cut to the chase, huh?" Morris' face showed a little annoyance at being given orders by his own creation, but he nodded slightly and continued.

"Ahem, very well. Suffice to say that the man sitting next to me, whom you both know as Mr. Newman of Internal Revenue, is the product of my... experiment." Michael found himself looking down at the floor in embarrassment as the two pairs of eyes facing him grew wide with awe.

"Whoa! So, that's how you did it! That thing with the gun!" Heather exclaimed.

"Indeed," Morris confirmed, "Just like he was able to take eight bullets in the chest and recover in a few days. He heals much faster than an ordinary man." The scientist's face was beginning to look quite smug as he detailed his prototype before his rapt audience. Lisa turned her gaze away from Michael then and back to the doctor with a look close to foreboding on her face.

"So, before, when you called him..." she didn't finish the sentence, didn't need to. They were each painfully aware of what passed just minutes ago to change all their circumstances.

"That, Mrs. Wiseman, is the other factor that has brought what was _meant_ to be a top-secret project constantly into your life." He glared accusingly once more at Michael, who gave an innocent shrug. "You see, I can build an artificial person from scratch given the right conditions and materials, but I can't make it function without a brain, and that no one has ever been able to synthesise to any degree of accuracy. We didn't want a robot, we wanted a man, and for that we needed a living brain that was, how shall I say... no longer needed by it's body. A dead man. And it just so happened that I was loitering in the ER looking for a donor when your husband was brought in after his subway accident. I was told there was no hope so..."

They were staring at him again, Michael knew. Even though he did not meet their gaze just yet, he felt their eyes on him, torn between disbelief that the husband and father lost to both of them for over ten months was not, in fact, dead, and admission that it must indeed be true, as their astute minds gradually sequenced of all the little pieces of evidence which had been steered towards this conclusion.

Irrationally, considering he'd dreamed of this day since the beginning of his second existence, Michael felt a wave of nauseating fear. Fear of rejection, for, he asked himself silently, how could they accept that this person, this Mr. Newman was really the same man who had loved and longed for his family ever since he was so cruelly ripped away from them to a new life of training and service to a demanding government?

But he had to know. Whether he was to be rejected or welcomed, he'd only find the answer in their faces. He took a deep breath and raised his eyes to meet theirs.

"You said you wanted the truth, Lisie," he said, his voice low, "And I'm sorry I couldn't give it to you sooner, but..."

"But Mr. Wiseman's entire existence is a most guarded secret, Mrs. Wiseman," Morris interrupted sternly, "And I must ask you and your daughter to swear that it will remain so."

Lisa flinched a little as Morris again said Michael's true name, but made no reply, her eyes still fixated on his tense features. It was Heather who recovered her speech first. 

"_You're_ Dad...?" She asked Michael tentatively, "But you don't look anything like him."

"That's because the doc' here gave me a bit of a makeover. Believe me, I hardly recognise myself anymore. But it's me inside, sweetie, really."

"This isn't happening." Lisa's whisper turned all their glances in her direction. "Michael's dead. He died in an accident ten months ago, and we went to his funeral and..."

"Yeah, the doc' told me about that. You know I always loved that orange dress."

Her rapid-fire denials were halted as she looked from one face to the other. Mr. Newman's earnest expression held a silent plea for her to accept him for who he really was, the scientist's dark face was a mask of stern authority, but also resigned and neutral as he watched the exchange, and Heather's seemed strangely distant and contemplative. Lisa could almost see the cogs of her daughter's mind turning, thinking the exact same thoughts that had gone through her own mind during the course of the evening, fitting the pieces of the puzzle together.

Silence settled over the small group, causing an awkward stalemate as each waited for someone else to speak. It was Morris who, after several long minutes, snapped them all out of the freeze-frame.

"Well, this is all really riveting, this sitting here in silence, but it's now..." he glanced down at his wristwatch, "Twenty after ten. And since our little debriefing is over, I think it's time I took you home Mr. Wiseman." Michael looked questioningly at Morris' looming figure as he rose from the armchair and smoothed his suit jacket down. Seeing the confusion on his subject's upturned face, he explained, "It's just like you said : they needed to be informed of your identity. Now they know. Let's go."

"Doc'..." Michael rose quickly to counter Morris' order, but his argument did not even find its footing before Morris shot him his most crippling glare.

"Don't think for one minute you're getting things all your own way in this..."

"Don't think for one minute I couldn't knock you out and tie you up outside for the night." Michael raised his chin defiantly to anchor the threat. Michael's obstinate expression did not even slightly betray the wave of guilt that leaped briefly inside him as the doctor's face incorporated a merest hint of shock and hurt. _Loyalty to Dr. Morris? Where'd I pick that up from?_

Pushing it to the back of his mind, he continued strategically on. He'd spent half his life in board meetings pitching to stubborn clients - he knew the drill. Automatically, he eased into a less intimidating posture and softened his tone. He'd made his point, now it was time to bargain. "Look, this isn't going to damage the project any more than it already is, but don't you understand that I can't just give my family news like this and then leave! I... _we_ need time."

"That wasn't part of the agreement, Mr. Wiseman," Morris growled, "Or have you forgotten the rule about having no contact with anyone from your former life under penalty of death?"

"What!?" Lisa exclaimed, standing suddenly. Both heads turned to meet her startled glance. Michael opened his mouth to answer, but Morris got there first.

"That's right, Mrs. Wiseman. Your husband was well aware of this particular rule from the beginning, and his repeated violation of it should have caused you both to be terminated a long time ago." 

His voice had gone cold again, Michael noted, as it always did whenever he spoke of the ever-present threat to Lisa and Heather which was supposed to keep him docile and obedient, but in fact had always acted quite to the contrary. Surely the doc' should have realised by now that his family were everything to him, and that enforcing separation from them would only make a loving husband and father all the more determined.

Lisa's face paled visibly as Morris mentioned 'termination', and she drew both arms protectively around Heather, who was now hovering at her elbow, listening intently. She swallowed her fear and faced her challenger squarely.

"He's right, doctor, we do need time." Morris knew she wasn't asking his permission. "I think I speak for the both of us when I say that my head is about to explode from shock..." Heather nodded vehemently in agreement, "...And right now I just want to calm down and have a serious talk with Mr.... uh, with Michael. And I think I'd like you to be elsewhere."

"I'm not leaving without..." The doctor began.

"At the moment Michael is my guest over Christmas. You're not. Want me to kick you out?" Morris' face was incredulous and he made no reply. "This is a matter for the members... or at least the _potential_ members of the Wiseman family... _only_."

She glanced quickly at Michael and saw the flash of pride on his face as she stood up to his dominating keeper. On a sudden impulse, he stepped over to stand beside his wife and daughter, the three of them presenting a united front, resolute and inflexible against the demands of the sullenly glowering scientist. He stepped right up to Michael then, so that he was almost nose-to-nose with his obstinate protégé.

"Mr. Wiseman, every time you deliver an ultimatum to me, just remember that I built the thing you're standing up in right now, and I can tear you out of it twice as fast - _without_ the use of anaesthesia." Michael gulped visibly, but remained rigid as Morris continued, his voice dropping almost to a snarl. "I will be outside that front door at six a.m..."

"Eleven." Michael demanded brashly.

"Nine." The doctor countered his barter smoothly.

"Done."

"And you will either walk or be dragged out of here and taken straight back to the townhouse..." He stopped abruptly as Michael impulsively threw his arms around his boss in a crushing hug.

"I love you." His imitation of childish delight took Morris completely by surprise, and he huffed and tried to shrug off Mr. Wiseman's sudden sarcastic affection. Lisa and Heather, too, were stunned by the abstract action, and despite the tension they had felt just seconds ago, both chuckled lightly.

"Mr. Wiseman, get off me please - _now._" Michael released the doctor and watched, smiling broadly, as he smoothed down his crumpled suit, gave the grateful trio one last stern glance, then whirled about and stalked out of the front door.

As they heard the doctor's classic car roar into life and drive away, they let out a collective breath. Without his intimidating presence there was space to think, to talk, to come to terms with what had been revealed.

"Sooo, you wanna run that whole thing by me again?" Michael turned to meet his wife's questioning gaze. Her tone had become one of idle curiosity, but he saw the emotional turmoil her casual front attempted to hide. In keeping with the lighter mood, he matched her tone.

"You mean, in English this time? Sure. You want to sit?"

"No, I think I've sat quite enough."

"Right well," he cleared his throat a little uncomfortably, "Ahem, so I was basically walking, or stumbling, home from the bar with Roger after that snot-nosed rookie Craig Spence beat me to the promotion - for which I dangled him out of a tenth-storey window, by the way." He grinned briefly at the memory of Spence's girlish shrieking, then resumed. 

"I went to the subway and... well, you know how _that_ ended." He saw the grief flash briefly across the faces of his wife and daughter. "I thought the accident must have finished me off for sure, but the next thing I know, the doc' is standing in front of me sprouting all this nonsense about artificial people. He makes me this offer : I can be given a new life as long as I accept total control by him and his people and never try to have any contact with anyone from my past, or, I can die permanently - that's it, game over. Not much of a choice, huh? So I chose to live. I blacked out again and when I came around, I looked in a mirror, and this is what looked back." He waved a hand to indicate his face, then let it drop back to his side.

Michael's tale was met at first by stunned silence from the two listeners, who, even hearing it for a second time, found it almost unbelievable.

"And, this is how you know so much about us? All of us, and our lives, our house..."

"Exactly that - _our_ lives, _our_ house. I was a part of it for eighteen years, Lisie. Have I been forgotten so fast?" Lisa drew in her breath sharply, and Michael instantly regretted his last question. It was cold of him to suggest that they'd forget him. Cold, and entirely untrue.

"Well, _excuse me_ for not jumping instantly to the conclusion that the scruffy tramp I bought a pair of shoes for one night was really my late husband returned from the grave!!"

Fire blazed in Lisa's eyes as she spoke, but was almost immediately put out by her brimming, angry tears as she turned away from Michael and covered her face with her hands, sobbing uncontrollably as the emotion overcame her.

His large, slender hands were on her heaving shoulders, then, drawing her gently, subtly closer to him and enfolding her in a cocoon of solace formed by his strong, protective arms. He did not turn her to face him, since it was the very sight of his face, so irreconcilably different from what it was meant to be, which distressed her so.

Watching the emotional scene before her, Heather suddenly understood the inexplicable feeling of rightness that had come over her barely a quarter-hour earlier, as she had seen the then 'Mr. Newman' kiss her mother tenderly. It had been her father all along, and some part of her, she realised in awe, must have known it from the beginning. Why else would she have ever encouraged the romance between the two of them, or found that she enjoyed his company and wanted to see more of him in their small household, especially since all of the other men to have sought her mom's attentions had so repulsed her? With a shudder she recalled Gerald Misenbach, the 'pygmy warrior' whom she had so fervently hoped would pale in comparison to the mysterious Mr. Newman. Heather smiled. No pygmy could ever stand up to her dad.

Michael, his arms still encircling his wife in a compassionate embrace, glanced over to where his daughter stood watching. He caught the smile on her face and wondered at its meaning. Did she perhaps begin to accept who he was? His heart leaped at the prospect. Silently, he took one arm from about Lisa and held it out to Heather. She hesitated only momentarily before stepping shyly forward to grasp her hand in his.

They must have looked odd, standing there in a huddle, Michael thought, a smile creeping up his tear-streaked face. _When had he started crying? _But, God, he had prayed for this. Prayed for the chance to make his second life really count. Sure, he was a government super-warrior, but that meant almost nothing to him in comparison with being a husband and a father. Those were the things which mattered, which had shaped his character and given him the fortitude to bear his confinement and separation from his family. And, he thought with a grin, that there was a certain irony to it all - that Doctor Morris, the man who had orchestrated and inflicted these months of torture, had finally been the one to end it, albeit unwillingly. He would have to thank him properly later.

"I, ah, think maybe we could all use something to drink right now." Lisa murmured, having regained her composure somewhat. Her mind clearer now, she was acutely aware of Michael's arms around her, and while it was not unwelcome, she felt there were things still to be said between them, things better said face-to-face, and without Heather listening in.

She gently slid out of his embrace and went into the kitchen. Michael looked down at Heather, whose hand was still clasped in his own. The look she returned was one of understanding and encouragement.

"I get it. You guys want to 'discuss' - I'm gone." As always, she echoed the phrase Lisa usually used to prompt Heather to exit, and turned to leave. Michael stopped her, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"I missed you," he breathed. She turned back to him, her eyes glistening.

"You were never really gone." She replied in a whisper as low as her father's, then gave a permissive nod in the direction of the kitchen. "Tell mom I'd like a cola, but you can take your time about it."

Michael's heart swelled with joy. Heather was his gift, she always had been. His mind flew back to the night she was born, the night he drove like a maniac to the hospital with his labouring wife in the back seat, praying fervently that everything would be fine, and later as he held the tiny girl in his arms, feeling proud to have contributed something so wonderful to the world as his daughter.

* * * * *


	7. One Night

**__**

"IN PULLUS VERITAS"

(IN CHICKEN, TRUTH)

__

Author: Gillian Slater

****

E-mail: LeoricGS@aol.com

****

Rating: PG -13

****

Disclaimer: As always, these characters do not belong to me, they are the property of the show's creators, and I'm borrowing them for my own sinister purposes...

**__**

PART SEVEN 

Heather's cola didn't arrive within the hour, much as she had expected. Her parents had a lot to get talk about, she knew.

Her parents... _both _of them. God, how she'd longed for this. Her mind flew back to that afternoon when Uncle Roger, his face paler than she'd ever seen it, turned up at school and whispered something in her teacher's ear. How he'd driven her home in silence, refusing to tell her the reason for her sudden ticket-of-leave from class.

The funeral was awful - trying to maintain a degree of decorum when inside she wanted to run away and hide from the devastating truth. Her dad, huge and cuddly, with a sarcasm that formed the inspiration for her own attitude as she'd grown up.

That was the smart-ass wit she'd immediately appreciated in Mr. Newman. He was so unlike the other adults she knew, and supposed it was due to his age. In the past couple of hours the whole puzzle had fallen into place, the conclusion so logical, so obvious, like a Magic Eye picture that leaps into 3D form after you stare at it for hours.

With a mixture of emotions kaleidoscoping through her mind, Heather's eyelids began to droop.

In the kitchen, Lisa sat perched on the tall stool in front of the man who was at once so suddenly and so profoundly her husband. He had told her more about his life in what he called his 'terrarium', his daily exercise, and about some of the dangerous missions the government had seen fit to throw him into.

The conversation seemed to have slipped away over the past half-hour, as though all the talking was just a precursor to the contemplative silence which had settled over them as they gazed at each other, neither entirely comfortable nor completely awkward.

Michael shifted his gaze from his wife then, peering over into the living room. He sighed with a fond smile. Lisa was about to ask why when he pressed a finger to his lips and nodded in the direction of the living room. Following his gaze, Lisa saw that heather, so exhausted by the day's events and revelations, had fallen fast asleep on the sofa.

Michael walked over to her and looked lovingly down at his sleeping daughter. He could have cried. Over the past few months, as Morris' security had become ever tighter, he'd despaired of ever seeing her again, and he never dreamed he'd be able to be a father to her once more.

Gently, as he'd done a hundred times before, he scooped her up without waking her, and carried her upstairs, laying her softly into her own bed and drawing the covers up around her. Lisa followed him up and watched in silent wonder from the doorway as Michael planted a light kiss on her forehead.

"Merry Christmas, sweetheart."

He heard a soft cry from behind him and turned to see his wife standing there, holding a trembling hand to her mouth before she moved away from the doorway. Michael went to her, closing Heather's door silently behind him, and enveloped her in his arms, pressing her face into his neck as she clung to him and sobbed. It had been an emotional rollercoaster for both of them.

"Shhh... it's okay, I'm here." When her gentle shaking had subsided, he pulled back and placed his hands on her shoulders, bracing her tired form. "Listen, you need to get some sleep, you're exhausted. I promise you, no one's going to beat down the door tonight."

He led her gently to their own bedroom. A hope danced briefly in his eyes as he saw the double bed there, but he quickly banished the thought. She was tired, and it was probably too soon, he thought. Definitely too much for her to cope with in one night.

Strangely, the same idea occurred to Lisa as they entered the room and she glanced furtively as Michael, catching the look which lingered so briefly on his face. Husband and wife exchanged awkward but telling glances, each communicating their hopes and reservations silently, and coming to an unspoken mutual decision as their longing overcame their inhibitions.

They came together with passion, but their kiss was unhurried and tender as they rediscovered each other after so long and so many changes.

Eventually Michael pulled away slightly to look meaningfully into her eyes.

"Lisie... you don't have to do this. I can imagine what you must be..." His words were stopped by her kiss, and the gentle pressure on his shoulder as she pushed him to the bed.

*****

She was stunning, his wife. Michael knew there was no such thing as a perfect marriage, but during his first life he felt sure he'd come fairly close to it. He couldn't remember a time when the sight of her hadn't inspired such feelings of love in him. Since his rebirth into his new life, with all it's duties, rules and routines, he'd spent every spare minute thinking of her, wanting to see her and wishing she could see him,_ really_ see him.

And now as she lay in his arms she was the picture of serenity, knowing at last that her bereavement was over, that her husband was where he was meant to be, beside her.

She stirred sleepily and opened her eyes, smiling dreamily as she snuggled up closer against him. Her smile turned poignant then, and she sighed, running a hand across his muscular chest.

"This feels so strange. I mean, I'm a forty-year-old housewife in bed with a twenty-something superhuman. I feel like a cradle-robber."

Michael brought his hand up to run it through her silken hair.

"I'm sorry... I know this can't be easy for you, to think of me as me, but to look at someone who isn't. You don't see Michael Wiseman, you see the 'prototype' Dr. Morris created. It's been the same for me. Every day I get up and I look in the mirror, and this stranger stares back at me. In my mind I'm a forty-five year old insurance exec with a cholesterol problem."

"And now you're a young man with the body of a track star. Huh, you know some people would kill for that."

"Hey!" Michael's mock offence lightened the mood a little. "I might remind you that I _was_ killed for that. And you should see what they put me through to keep me this way. Morris has me running fifty miles a day on a treadmill and eating every type of plant life you can name!"

"Fifty miles a day? Really? You can do that?"

"Well, don't tell the doc', but I always stop after forty-nine." They both chuckled, but then Lisa's smile faded.

"It's just... how can you want someone nearly twice your age now that you're..."

"Still five years older than you." He told her firmly. "It doesn't matter what artificial shell they stick me in, I've been alive for forty-five years, and I can moan my ass off with the best of 'em when the mood takes me." He drew his arms closer about her waist. "And you're as beautiful today as the day I married you -- more. I couldn't possibly want you more than I do right now."

"Really?" A touch of smugness came into her voice.

"Sure. It could be the fact that I've been without you for ten months. That, and... well, obviously I'm love-starved." This drew a snort of laughter from his wife. "Let's face it," Michael continued, "I haven't been with a woman_ in this lifetime_!" She laughed richly as he buried his face into the spread out mass of her hair and kissed the special place on the back of her neck.

"Michael... it _is_ you..."

"It's me Lisie." Lisa noticed how odd her husband's pet name for her sounded in his vibrant, youthful voice. _I could get used to it..._ she thought.

*****

Michael and Lisa were awakened with a start as something landed heavily at the foot of their bed.

"Mom! Dad! I-I had a nightmare, it was _really_ awful!" Heather's earnest face looked imploringly at her entwined parents. "Can I sleep in your bed?"

They exchanged embarrassed glances, both acutely aware of their nudity and both desperately trying to think of an excuse or an explanation for the position in which their daughter found them. Looking back at Heather in distress, they found her petrified expression had vanished, to be replaced with a wicked grin.

"Gotcha!" She exclaimed, cackling with glee at their shocked expressions.

Reddened but relieved, the parents joined in the laughter, if only to cover their humiliation, until a suddenly something occurred to Michael.

"Wait a minute... Heather, you, you just called me 'Dad'." He realised in wonder.

"Well, you are aren't you?" Heather replied casually, as though nothing had changed in the last ten months. "Anyway, I don't know anyone else in the world who likes spicy pecans... and mom would never sleep with you if you were someone else."

"Heather!" Lisa cried in shock, her blush reintensifying.

"That is," Heather went on, ignoring her mother's outburst, "Unless you were _'Mr. 'Hottie' Newman'**!**"_ The teenager grinned in triumph as Lisa cringed behind her hands, and walked out closing the door behind her.

*****

An impatient visitor was ringing the doorbell repeatedly as Michael and Lisa perused the kitchen cupboards for breakfast. Lisa pulled her bathrobe tighter around herself as she went to answer it.

The door opened to reveal the sternly glowering face of Dr. Theodore Morris.

"Good morning, Mrs. Wiseman." The greeting was anything but friendly, and Lisa's look mirrored the irate scientist's. "Oh, I'm _sorry_ - did I disturb you before breakfast?" Morris' feigned apology only confirmed what Lisa already suspected as she noticed the bunch of large ripe bananas he held strategically behind him.

Michael groaned audibly as he came up behind Lisa in a matching bathrobe which looked ridiculously outsized for his slight build.

"Huh. I was wondering when the old 'ball and chain' was gonna turn up. How ya been, doc'?"

"Impatient."

"You, doc'? _Never_!" Lisa tried to stifle her chuckle at Michael's oozing sarcasm. The doctor's face, however, remained stony.

"I shouldn't have to remind you, Mr. Wiseman, that you are still _my project._ No matter how many times you escape or how many government securities you see fit to breach in your futile attempt to regain your former life, I will always have the last word on your keeping and activities. And now I'm telling you that this... conjugal visit is over. You're going back to the Facility."

"But this is where I belong. My home, my family." He drew his arms protectively around Lisa's waist.

"Mr. Wiseman, you are dead. D-E-A-D. You are the property of the United States Government and you _belong_ in the place which was designed and built specifically to monitor and train you. Now get dressed and say your goodbyes. I'll be in the car."

"What, before breakfast?" Michael yelled in bitter sarcasm after the doctor's retreating form. Without halting or turning back Morris held up the bananas in silent, firm reply.

Michael let out a sharp breath and shut the door. Turning to Lisa, he put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it comfortingly, her sad eyes told him everything she needed to say, but the only words that came out were, "I'll fix you some coffee." As she turned into the kitchen.

With practised swiftness, Michael dressed in the same clothes he'd been wearing the previous two days, having found to his chagrin that all of his old clothes, still in the wardrobe, were at least seven or eight sizes too large.

As he came down the stairs, he saw his wife and daughter standing there like a send-off party. He joined them and the three group-hugged the way they always used to before Heather became old enough to think it 'soppy'. She made no complaint, however, as her recently rediscovered father lifted her effortlessly and hugged her tightly. Heather clung to Michael's neck and whispered softly in his ear, "I love you Daddy."

"Shhh," he soothed, "I'll come back and see you soon, I promise." He wiped away a stray tear from the corner of her eye. "Hey, at least I'm not dead, huh?" Heather sniffed and smiled as she kissed his cheek before he lowered her to the ground and turned to Lisa. Her kiss was of a different kind, communicating her sorrow, longing and abiding desire all at once.

"I will come, Lisie." He repeated with assurance. "I don't care if they decide to make the door out of solid marble, nothing is keeping me away from you for too long, not now that you know."

Lisa and Heather watched and waved sombrely from the doorway as Michael cast one last, longing look at his family before getting into the black stretched limo at the end of the driveway.

Morris ordered the driver back to the townhouse then handed Michael the bunch of bananas with a slight smirk on his face.

"You're really enjoying this 'control' thing, aren't you?" Michael accused him as he eyed the fruit distastefully. "Why couldn't you at least let me stay for breakfast? Lisa makes this really nutritious shake..."

"Which I'm sure she enjoys greatly while_ you_ tuck into your bacon and eggs." The doctor's look was stern. "Don't think I don't know you, Mr. Wiseman. I went to a lot of trouble to create the perfect human body, and I'm not going to let you or any adoring wife spoil it. I dread to think what you've been filling yourself with without me there to stop you..." Morris cocked one eyebrow at his young subject, smirking suddenly, "...Although I don't believe for one second that you weren't getting any _exercise_!"

Michael countered the doctor's innuendo smoothly. "Wow, doc', someone finally got around to explaining about that did they?"

"Mr. Wiseman, I've lived and breathed the 'facts of life' since college. Just _who_ do you think built that body - _ALL_ of it!? And I think I outdid myself in that area."

Michael thought about that for a moment, remembering his wife's earlier compliments.

"I guess I owe you some thanks for that, then."

"_Thanks_ are not required, Mr. Wiseman. You can show your gratitude by being obedient and dedicated to our work. Show me just what that body I designed can do -- what it was _meant_ to do."

Michael shrugged acquiescently. "You're the doc', doc'."

"Don't you forget it."

"And... what about Lisa and Heather?"

"What about them?"

"Well, I mean, you can't just shut them out now that they know so... when do I get to see them again?"

"That depends entirely upon the success of your training. I've given up trying to motivate you with threats, and I can't persuade you to co-operate out of respect for me or the importance of this project. Since your family is clearly the only thing you care about, we're now operating on the 'cookie' system**:** You show me good, steady progress... and I'll _consider_ inviting them to dinner. Sometime. Maybe."

Michael nodded, feeling encouraged. "You got it, doc'! Hell, I'll run a _hundred_ miles a day if it takes me one step closer to Lisa." Morris saw the enthusiasm in him and raised his eyebrows thoughtfully.

"Hmmm... perhaps I should have tried this approach sooner, but then there isn't usually such a discipline problem amongst guinea-pigs."

Michael smiled and gazed out of the tinted windows. "_Cookie_ system. Mmm..."

"A metaphor _only_," Morris said quickly, then added, "It may be against the rules in every way, but at least your wife is less fattening and involves no chocolate chips."

"Not necessarily."

"I'll_ pretend_ I didn't hear that." He shot Michael the most menacing look he could muster at short notice and then turned away, trying desperately to hide his sudden grin.

*****


	8. Is All It Takes

**__**

"IN PULLUS VERITAS"

(IN CHICKEN, TRUTH)

__

Author: Gillian Slater

****

E-mail: LeoricGS@aol.com

****

Rating: PG -13

****

Disclaimer: As always, these characters do not belong to me, they are the property of the show's creators, and I'm borrowing them for my own sinister purposes...

**__**

PART EIGHT

ONE MONTH LATER

Michael's stomach clenched with excitement as he and Dr. Morris walked down the stairs to the front door. The doorbell had only sounded once before, and Michael felt certain it was the same person ringing it now.

Morris made Michael turn his back as he punched in the three-digit code for the doorlock and then opened the door to Lisa's smiling face.

"Mrs. Wiseman this is a secret government facility," The doctor reminded her sternly before Michael had a chance to speak, "And as such should not be visited by the widow of our genetic prototype."

Lisa ignored Morris' warning completely and spoke directly to her husband as though the doctor were not even there.

"Michael, I need to talk to you."

"Is something wrong?"

"No, no. It's just... something I wanted to say..." she looked pointedly at Morris, "_Just_ to you. Will you meet me?" Morris looked incredulous at hearing the two of them conspiring blatantly in front of his face.

"There will be NO meeting, Mrs. Wiseman, because I have not given my permission, nor am I likely to."

"It's okay, doc', I can always break out." Michael quipped casually, watching in amusement as the doctor's face became more and more enraged.

"Where? When?" He asked, turning back to Lisa.

She cast a furtive glance at Morris, then replied cryptically, "You remember our third anniversary?" Michael nodded, and a smile crept over his face.

"Same time, same place. I'll be there." Then, suddenly, before Morris could object, she leaned forward and gave her husband a brief, passionate kiss, then grinned defiantly at the fuming scientist and walked away.

Morris stared hard at Michael as he closed the door with a contented smile on his face.

"You're _not_ going." Michael continued to smile, and Morris huffed in anger and stalked away.

*****

"Why don't you tell me where she'll be and I'll go on your behalf. Rest assured, I will pass on her message..."

Michael ignored the doctor's umpteenth similar plea and continued to bench press.

"Suit yourself," Morris shrugged, "But you remember how angry she was last time you stood her up? And this is no dinner date. From the tone of her voice, I'd say it's important news she has to tell..."

"If it's... that important.... she wouldn't... tell you." Michael said between lifts.

"That's too bad. Enough of that now. Hit the shower."

"What, no treadmill? Boy, aren't you being Dr. Benevolent this morning?" Michael eyed Morris suspiciously, but wiped a nearby cloth across his forehead and headed for the bedroom.

At the doorway he was suddenly ambushed. Morris looked on with a smug grin as six muscle-bound security guards manhandled the desperately squirming Michael onto his bed and ran chains across him, each ending in heavy metal shackles which were quickly attached to his wrists and ankles.

Michael glared daggers at the smirking doctor. "And where'd you get _these_? Your friendly neighbourhood torture equipment suppliers?"

"These chains are made of titanium - special order. They're five times as thick as anything you've broken before," Morris informed his struggling prisoner casually, "So, unless you're planning on taking the bed with you to meet your wife, you're going to have to leave her standing there. _Again_." He paused for dramatic effect. "_Or_... you could tell me where and when and at least let me go hear what she has to say. It's fairer to her that way."

Michael let out a low growl of futile anger as he gave up struggling. Slowly, his expression went from fury to defeat, and then was consumed in a faraway look of nostalgia.

"Our third anniversary," he reminisced, more to himself than for Morris' benefit, "Was supposed to be this whole evening of fun we had planned. I was gonna meet Lisie after work at José's and we'd go on from there..."

"José's?"

"Never made it. An insurance guy's work is never done so... I was two and a half hours late. By the time I got there she was gone. A waiter told me she'd waited two hours, but finally gave up and left. I was amazed she'd stayed that long. So, we both spent our evening wandering the city looking for each other, trying to figure out where either of us would go . It got to about midnight and I wound up standing at one end of the Brooklyn Heights Promenade and I looked across and saw her stood at the other end. Huh, Lisa always used to say that fate put us both on the same bridge at the same time so as not to spoil our anniversary."

"So, that's the meeting point? Brooklyn Heights at midnight?"

"I'd guess so." He sighed in defeat. As Morris turned to go, he added, "Doc'... tell her... tell her 'Happy Anniversary'."

Morris nodded in dawning realisation and sympathy. "I will, Mr. Wiseman, I will."

*****

Lisa stood gazing out at the water, watching the bright lights of the city skyline dance in its gently rippling surface. She closed her eyes, letting her mind drift back to that night. It had started badly, but as the city clock chimed midnight fate intervened on the lovers' behalf and things had taken a definite upturn. 

She imagined Michael coming quietly up behind her now, slipping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. His lips claimed that spot on the back of her neck where she loved to be kissed, and the cool night breeze tingled the flesh where he touched her. Strangely, though, it was Michael's new, youthful face which appeared in her mind's eye now. Her husband, reborn and renewed was somehow more exciting to her now, now that her previous feelings of guilt about the mysterious 'Mr. Newman' and his effect on her had been lifted.

She was shaken abruptly from her gentle fantasy by a deep throated cough. Turning, she looked into the ever-stern face of Dr. Theodore Morris and let out a long sigh of disappointment. It was this man who ruled Michael's life now.

"Why am I even surprised...?"

"Mr. Wiseman is a little tied up at the moment..." he began to explain, then smirked a little, "...Actually a little _chained_ up... but if you want to tell me whatever you have to say I'll be sure to pass it on to him."

"Forgive me Doctor," Lisa replied, her tone turning a little frosty, "But what I have to say is for my husband_ only_."

"Your husband is _dead_, Mrs. Wiseman, and as such can no longer be contacted except through me. There's nothing he knows that doesn't come to me first."

Lisa made no attempt to reply, but went back to staring out at the water with the same faraway expression as earlier.

"He's not coming, Mrs. Wiseman. He's safely locked away, so if you won't talk to me then you might as well go home." Morris knew she didn't hear him. He saw the vacant look in her eyes and recognised it as the very same look that appeared in Michael's eyes so frequently.

He had to grudgingly admit, even though this kind of dreamy romantic indulgence was detrimental to his project and to Mr. Wiseman's focus, that there was something very touching in their devotion to each other. Morris had never been married, nor even in a relationship that could be called serious, but since he'd been witness to the fierceness of Michael's love for his wife and daughter, he began to wish he'd made time in his career-driven life to find that kind of happiness. Playing a major role in their enforced separation occasionally evoked feelings of regret in the doctor, and this was one of those times. He was a steadfast scientist, thinking of nothing but his work, but right now he wished he didn't have to be.

"I guess I'll just leave you alone for now, then," Morris said softly with more understanding in his voice that Lisa had heard before, "But, well, Mr. Wiseman wanted to wish you a Happy Anniversary." Lisa did not turn, but smiled her thanks softly as the doctor moved quietly away and got into the black limousine, ordering the driver back to the townhouse.

Lisa's gaze did not shift as the car pulled away, her mind once again immersed in the contemplation of her and her husband's unusual relationship.

"Hey, has he gone?" A voice hissed from somewhere beneath her.

"Huh?"

"The doc'. Is he gone?"

"Michael? Is that you?"

"Yeah." Some brief grunting noises issued from below, then Michael appeared from the underside of the bridge, clawing his way up to the railings and vaulting agilely over them to land softly next to his bewildered wife.

"I thought he'd never leave."

"Have... have you been down there the whole time?"

"Sure, I arrived just before he did." Seeing the look of amazement on her face, he added, 

"Well, I don't have to deal with New York traffic."

"But, he said you were chained up. 'Safely locked away' he told me."

"Well, locked and chained, yeah, but not _safely_." Michael quipped.

Lisa smiled widely and threw her arms around him. He hugged her back with equal fervour, then pulled back and produced a single, delicate white rose from inside his coat. After a summary glance to make sure it was intact he presented the obviously hand-picked rose to his wife saying, "Happy Anniversary, honey. Sorry, it's the best I could do at short notice."

She dismissed his apology with a wave. "Oh, I love it." Her face beamed as she cradled the rose in her hands, and her expression became whimsical.

"I'm afraid you might have to wait a while for your present. It's... still in the making." She said cryptically. Michael shrugged casually then coughed delicately.

"Lisie, I... I wish I could stay with you all night, but... the doc'll be getting back to my place any time now and as soon as he finds out I escaped he'll head straight back here. You said you needed to talk?"

"Well, when I say your present's 'in the making', I mean it'll probably take around eight more months or so before I can give it to you..." She looked up at her husband, her eyes full of meaning.

Michael opened his mouth to ask what she was talking about when the implication struck. The sound of his quick, indrawn breath was hardly more than a whisper, but to Michael it sounded like a roar in the hushed stillness of the night air.

"Eight months?! So... by that you mean...? Oh, man... you're saying...?"

"That's _exactly_ what I'm saying." Michael ran a hand quickly through his short hair.

"But how? When...?"

"Oh, come on, your memory can't be that bad! We were together just last month."

"Just one night..." Michael's mind flew briefly back to that magical night. At the time he felt it would never end, but now it seemed all too long ago.

"Is all it takes." Lisa finished the sentence for him. Her face took on a concerned expression, "Michael are you okay with this? I mean, with your new situation I can see how it'd be a problem for you..."

Her worries were quickly banished as Michael suddenly embraced her and kissed her with such ardour she began to wonder how she'd ever survived all those nights without him.

"Lisie... oh, Lisie, thank you..." He whispered repeatedly between desperate kisses. "A baby... another baby, Lisie..."

"I know... I know."

When he finally pulled back and looked into her adoring face he was breathless with sheer happiness and they stared at each other for several minutes, sharing their joy. As the city clock chimed fifteen after the hour, however, possible complications began to intrude on the moment and Michael's face registered his concern.

"Listen, does anyone else know about this?"

"Heather knows."

"Heather!?"

"Well, recently she's picked up a really bad habit of rooting through my things. She found the box of my test-kit and demanded to know the truth."

"How'd she take it?"

"Oh, she's thrilled. I think she's already started making out name-lists!"

Michael smiled. "A father of two -- who'd have believed it?"

"That's a good point. You don't look old enough to have two children, especially one of Heather's age. Y'know, I could have a hard time explaining a second pregnancy after my husband's... _died_."

"Well, it'll be a while yet before you come under suspicion I think. Have you been to see a doctor yet?"

"Yeah, as soon as I found out. I didn't go to Dr. Melbourne - he's known us all too long and, well, I didn't want him to think I'd run off with someone else..."

"Makes sense." Michael agreed.

"Anyway, I have another check-up at the hospital next week, and at four months I get an ultrasound scan. I was wondering... will you be able to come with me for that?"

"I'll be there," Michael replied with assurance, "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

"That's if you can get away from your keeper again. The chains will be stronger next time, no doubt. Are you... going to tell Dr. Morris?"

"Are you kidding? Considering I wasn't supposed to have any contact with anyone from my former life - under pain of death - I don't think his majesty would take too kindly to the fact that I got you pregnant!"

"Okay, so don't tell him right away, but, well, I'm fairly sure that he keeps an eye on my general activities. Sooner or later he'll find out himself, especially when I start to look a lot larger in the stomach area! What I'm trying to say is, I think it'd be better coming from you, volunteered, before he learns about it another way. Let's face it, he's practically your foster-father."

Michael nodded, giving in as he invariably did to her point of view. A wicked gleam came into his eye then. "Sure I'll tell him, but I might have to make the good doctor work for his treats. I'm thinking it'll drive him crazy not knowing..."

"Michael Wiseman! I'd no idea you had such a cruel streak!" Lisa feigned a look of shock and then joined in Michael's laughter.

"Yeah, well, if he can make me work out full time and eat lettuce, I think a little revenge is in order." They smiled and smirked at each other conspiratorially.

"There's another thing to think about, though," Lisa said, her tone becoming more serious, "Sometime before, y'know... I'd like to talk to Dr. Morris. I have a lot of questions - genetics-type questions. More than anything I'd like to know how this is possible in the first place. It's my understanding that you're..." she trailed off, searching for the right word.

"Synthetic? Artificial? Not the genuine article?"

"You know what I mean. Also, how will your genes affect the baby? You were designed to be strong and fast and stuff, but does it mean our child will be outrunning cars and climbing towers?"

Michael spread his hands. "I honestly don't know. I guess you're right - the doc' might be able to give us some answers, but... be prepared. You know as well as anyone what a control freak he is. He'll take over your case, right up until you have the baby, and probably afterward, too."

"I accept that. And I know he's... uptight, but I don't believe he's such a monster. He makes threats about Heather and me, but on the other hand he's saved our lives more than once, and there's plenty of proof that he values you for more than just your DNA. He knows what we mean to you, Michael, and he knows if anything happened to us you'd be AWOL in a second. I think he'll be willing to help if only to keep you on his side."

"Okay, okay, you win. I'll tell him in a while... just let me have my fun first!" Lisa grinned wickedly and gave a permissive nod.

All thoughts of the doctor were discarded then, as Michael embraced her once more, spreading a hand gently over her still-flat abdomen.

"You take it easy now," he whispered against her neck, "Don't want to upset junior with too much hard work, huh?"

"Real estate isn't exactly strenuous, Michael. Anyway, I've got eight months left to go. I can't just sit on my ass for that length of time. I'll go crazy with boredom."

"Well, I could... y'know... entertain you from time to time..." He held her tighter and put his lips to that special place on her neck.

"I think not, Mr. Wiseman." They both turned to see Dr. Morris emerging from the limousine, his scowl somehow fiercer than usual. He looked pointedly at his subject.

"You broke the chains - _titanium_ chains." He accused.

"Yep. Aren't you proud of me?"

"If I'd _asked _you to break them, I'd be jumping right now, but breaking out to meet your wife when I'd expressly forbidden it..."

"Well, at least I didn't take off to Philadelphia or somewhere, huh? Shows I'm learning. I waited here like a good little lab rat for you to come re-cage me."

"And that's_ precisely_ what I'm going to do. Come, Mr. Wiseman. NOW." Michael slumped his shoulders in submission and turned back to Lisa.

"Looks like it's back to jail for the escapee," He leaned in to give his wife a lingering kiss, whispering almost inaudibly in her ear, "Three months time... I'll be there. Look after yourself, huh, and the _children_."

She clung to him briefly then released him to the scowling doctor, who watched in mute ire as Michael boarded the limo.

*****


	9. Truth Will Out

**__**

"IN PULLUS VERITAS"

(IN CHICKEN, TRUTH)

__

Author: Gillian Slater

****

E-mail: LeoricGS@aol.com

****

Rating: PG -13

****

Disclaimer: As always, these characters do not belong to me, they are the property of the show's creators, and I'm borrowing them for my own sinister purposes...

**__**

PART NINE 

"Tell me what she said." Morris ordered.

"Nope." Michael grinned.

"Tell me."

"Nope."

Hanging upside-down from a bar Michael continued with his crunches, whilst the doctor sat in a chair beside him with his arms tightly folded. Between every repetition the exchange of Morris' frustrated demand and Michael's cheerfully prompt refusal interjected like an rhythmic accompaniment to the exercise.

When Michael finally dropped to the ground, exhausted, Morris asked him one final time what had passed between him and his wife that night on the bridge.

"I'd love to tell ya, doc', I really would, but that would take all the fun out of my knowing something you don't. You gotta admit you earned this. After all the torture you put me through... and besides, it's kinda private - a husband/wife thing - you wouldn't understand."

The doctor shrugged and his face took on a suddenly apathetic expression. "Suit yourself. Now... give me thirty-five miles on the treadmill."

"But I just did fifty an hour ago!" Michael protested.

"Did you? I don't remember." Morris' face was a picture of feigned innocence followed by sly smugness as he pointed firmly to the treadmill. Michael huffed loudly.

"Can't I at least get some dinner first? I'm starved."

"Oh, that reminds me," Morris took out his cell-phone and dialled. "Hello, kitchens? Dr. Morris here. I want to inform you of a change in the subject's diet. Mr. Wiseman seems to have developed a fondness for..." He paused to think and slid a sideways glance at his confused protégé, "...Carrots. Yes, that's it - raw carrots. He's to have nothing else to eat till further notice, understand? Uh-huh... no other item of food is to be allowed into the building, okay? Thank you." He snapped the phone shut and deposited it back into his inside pocket, turning to catch the expression of sheer disgust and hatred on Michael's face.

"I _hate_ carrots." He said flatly, his previous humour quite forgotten.

"I know." Morris grinned evilly. "So you see you've really got two choices here, Mr. Wiseman. You can sit down to your raw carrots with good grace... _every day,_ for breakfast, lunch and dinner... or, you can just tell me what I want to know. It's up to you. What's it going to be?"

Michael folded his arms in silent reply. Morris shrugged unconcernedly, unmoved by his subject's stubbornness and secure in the knowledge that Michael wouldn't keep his secret for too long.

*****

__

ONE MONTH LATER

Carrots. Again. Michael stared distastefully down at the plate the doctor had placed in front of him and pushed it away, trying to hide the sound of his desperately groaning stomach. He wouldn't even attempt to force down any of the detested vegetables, wouldn't give Morris the satisfaction of knowing how hungry he was. A flash of yellow caught in his peripheral vision. He looked up suddenly to see the doctor pull a large, ripe banana from his jacket pocket. Michael's mouth watered at the sight of it. Morris held up the fruit and studied it, waving it meaningfully in front of Michael's face.

"Mmm... gee, I'll bet this is just right to eat..." The doctor taunted his bitterly glaring subject, smelling the sweet banana. Michael's look was positively hate-filled as he suffered the torment. Finally he shoved his chair violently back from the table and rose to face his antagonist.

"All right, all right!" He cried in anguished submission. The doctor grinned wickedly.

"Ready to talk?"

"I need a leave of absence, couple of months from now."

Morris looked at him incredulously. "You _what_?"

"I gotta be somewhere."

"Specifics, Mr. Wiseman. Specifics... or carrots."

"I have to go to the hospital."

The doctor's stern expression was quickly replaced by concern as he looked his creation up and down. "If something's wrong with you, I..."

"No, no, it's not me," He reassured Morris quickly, "It's Lisa."

"Something's wrong with her?"

"Not exactly, in fact..." Michael couldn't stop the expression of eager delight from crossing his face, "In fact it's right. So right..."

"Mr. Wiseman..." The doctor prompted menacingly, snapping Michael from his private thoughts.

He let out a frustrated groan. "Lisa's pregnant, okay? There, I got my wife pregnant _which_ I think is still legal in this state... Can I have my banana now?"

"P-pregnant? You... she..." He was at a loss for words.

"Doc'!" Michael yelled, motioning to his yellow reward, still firmly gripped in the doctor's hand.

"Hmm?"

"The banana...?"

"Oh, right." Dr. Morris, still momentarily dazed, held out the banana mutely, his eyes never leaving Michael's face as he grabbed the fruit, tore it open and started to devour it with relish.

"Mmm, mmm!" He mumbled gratefully. The doctor raised one eyebrow thoughtfully.

"I've never seen you so eager to eat a banana before, Mr. Wiseman. Perhaps the raw carrot approach to dietary training should be documented for future implementation." He frowned a little then and began to pace the room, thinking out loud.

"Sooo... hospital appointment in two months time, it's a month since you met her on the bridge, and one month before that you and she... ahh, so it's her sixteen-week ultrasound scan. Hmmm..."

Michael finished the banana with a gulp, his mind suddenly focused, and turned to the doctor. "I _have_ to go, doc', this is... my child...." Morris noted that his voice was more imploring than demanding, as was his usual tone where his family members were concerned. He nodded in concession.

"We'll _both_ go, Mr. Wiseman. Don't think I'm letting you out of this building on your own again, especially to go to your wife. Who knows how many children you'll end up with."

Michael grinned. "You're not mad. I knew you wouldn't be. I mean, what's not to like, huh?"

The doctor scowled at Michael. "Mr. Wiseman. Let me remind you of a few things. I was _mad_ when your family found out about your true identity, but I knew you weren't completely to blame. I was _mad_ when you broke out to meet her on your anniversary, which was entirely your fault. Now Mrs. Wiseman is going to have a baby, fathered by a genetically engineered superhuman who to all intents and purposes _does not exist..._" His voice built up in a terrifying crescendo as Michael cringed and waited for the outburst. Then Morris' face suddenly lit up in a wide grin. "... Just _think of the possibilities_!!!" He enthused. "A mix of your perfect genetic structure and an average human being..."

"Hey!" Michael interrupted, "Lisa is _not_ average!"

"Oh, of course not," Morris dismissed Michael's offended claim with a wave and continued with his wildly excited diatribe. "But there's real unpredictability in this case, which isn't something one normally wants in an experiment, except that now there's the opportunity to see how Mother Nature deals with our intervention in the next stage..." 

Michael moved in front of the doctor, then, cutting off his tirade with a firmly held up hand and a sharp hiss.

"Doc'! Let's get something very, very clear here," His voice was hushed, now, and deadly serious as he delivered the ultimatums which Morris had come to expect from his demanding subject. "We're talking about _my_ wife and _my_ baby. Key word in both of those**:** _mine_. There's no 'experiment' here, no 'intervention' and no 'opportunity' for you and your little white-coat gene-prodders. Now, I understand that you'll want to oversee the proceedings because I'm your pet science project and, let's face it, you've just gotta get your daily fix of dominance. Now you may think you're the expert on all things biological, but Lisa and I have done this before which make us a whole helluva lot more qualified. But just so you're absolutely clear on this one thing," Michael was almost nose to nose with the glaring scientist, "There's _no way_ you'regoing to take our baby."

"Mr. Wiseman," The doctor's voice was as low as his own as equally as fierce. His expression remained in rigid determination for several silent seconds before easing into surprisingly gentle reassurance, "I wouldn't try."

*****

Lisa sat uncomfortably in the waiting room, continuously shifting around trying to find a position in which her nagging lower back pain would ease off. Heather looked up anxiously at her mother with a concerned, questioning expression every time she shuffled on her chair.

"It's okay, sweetheart," Lisa answered her daughter's unspoken question, "I'm just being fidgety again. You shouldn't worry, you know, I've done this before, and let me tell you, you were a lot more awkward to carry around!" Heather smiled and her expression relaxed minutely, before returning to her worried look.

"Is Dad going to be here? He's coming isn't he? He said he'd come, right?"

"He'll be here," Lisa assured her firmly, trying to assuage her own doubts as well as Heather's, "If I know your father he'd move heaven and earth to get here for this... and he'll probably have to."

She cast a glance out of the open door and down the corridor and felt a welling up of relief as she saw Michael's stunning young face among the bustle of the hospital visitors. Her relief was followed almost immediately by anxiety as she noted the large, dark face of Dr. Morris just behind her husband. _Secret's out, then._ She thought.

As Michael's supremely accurate vision picked her out he broke into an eager jog, agilely dodging the human traffic with his inhuman reflexes. Morris cursed briefly and tried to keep up, getting continually buffeted by the moving populace.

"Dad!" Heather cried out as she jumped up from her place and ran to meet him half way. He barely slid to a halt and picked her up, swinging her into his arms and hugging her tightly as he covered the remaining distance between himself and his wife and lowered Heather to the floor again. Lisa rose with some effort, but was quickly rewarded by Michael's strong arms placed gently around her somewhat larger waist. His bright eyes met hers and what passed between them in an instant needed no words, just the look of mutual adoration on their elated faces.

As Morris approached the family group, he felt an unfamiliar and unexpected welling of emotion at being able to witness so powerful a bond between the three, and intruded somewhat reluctantly on their reunion with a soft cough.

"Mrs. Wiseman, Heather," he greeted Michael's current family members, "May I be the first to congratulate you on your, ah, imminent arrival." Lisa smiled at the doctor's halting sentiments. He obviously didn't do this too often. She nodded her thanks.

"What are you doing here? It's nothing to do with you!" Heather's glaring lack of tact was true to form. Morris did not take offence at her rudeness, but lowered himself to talk directly to her.

"I'm here to make sure you father doesn't use this opportunity to make his escape, and to make sure that your mother's baby is all right, of course."

"You're here to stick your nose in, just like always! Why can't you leave us alone?" She pleaded.

"Heather, I don't expect you to understand -- I made your father the way he is now, and I have to answer to my superiors in the government about his activities."

"And now your going to take over the new baby too, right? Keep it in a special 'facility'?" The doctor put his hand on Heather's shoulder and looked earnestly into her bitter eyes.

"Listen here, I've promised not to interfere with your little brother or sister. I want to make sure it's well and help in any way I can, but..." he looked up to Michael and Lisa who were listening intently, "... I'm also doing my best to conceal this from the Pentagon. It's safe to say that if they knew about this, your baby would be swiftly requisitioned by the government for reasons of federal security."

"You mean you're keeping our secret?" Lisa was astonished.

"I've told you many times, Mrs. Wiseman, that your husband is my most precious possession," He said straightforwardly, as though Michael were not right beside her listening, "He's my life's work, and even though I don't pull all the strings, I think of him as my project. However, if such a transgression from the rules as your pregnancy were to be discovered, my bosses would almost certainly withdraw funding of the project, leaving us both out on the scrapheap, as it were."

"So... that's why you're doing this? To keep your experiment funded?" Michael asked in grateful scepticism, knowing absolutely as Morris nodded nonchalantly that the doctor's affirmative answer was a falsehood, an attempt to hide such an uncharacteristically caring act. Even Heather fell silent as she computed the truth that the frightening scientist who ruled her father's life was not quite the ogre she had thought him to be.

"Mrs. Lisa Wiseman?" A nurse read Lisa's name from the appointment list and searched the faces before her. Lisa took both Michael and Heather's hands and said, "You guys coming?" As the three turned to go, she raised her eyebrows at Morris, who stood in mute suspense as though waiting for permission to follow. The invitation Lisa quickly extended was accepted with a wide anticipatory grin.

*****


	10. The Four Wisemen

**__**

"IN PULLUS VERITAS"

(IN CHICKEN, TRUTH)

__

Author: Gillian Slater

****

E-mail: LeoricGS@aol.com

****

Rating: PG -13

****

Disclaimer: As always, these characters do not belong to me, they are the property of the show's creators, and I'm borrowing them for my own sinister purposes...

**__**

PART TEN

__

FOURTEEN WEEKS LATER

Morris paced the corridor outside the delivery room like a caged wildcat, repeatedly cursing his enforced exclusion from the event. "I'm a doctor... it's not like I'd be fainting in there... something could go wrong and they might need an extra pair of qualified hands..."

"Please _shut up_!" Heather implored, covering her ears to Morris' rantings. "The doctors said 'family only', so if anyone should be allowed in it's me! But Dad told us to wait here and be patient, and that's exactly what we're going to do, got it?"

"You know, you take a very superior tone with your elders, young lady," Morris growled, "You must get it from your father. He has the habit of thinking he can give me orders when it's actually the other way around."

"Excuse me, but isn't Dad like five years older than you anyway?"

"He's twenty-six." The doctor pointed out.

"Forty-five!" Heather argued emphatically.

The sound of Lisa's intermittent loud moaning which had been almost obliterated by their heated disagreement was abruptly replaced by the wail of a new-born. Their dispute was dismissed in an instant, as the two stood to attention outside the door, listening intently as the baby's cries continued.

After several minutes of unbearable tension, the door swung open then, and Michael appeared looking almost as exhausted as Lisa must have been, but his face bore the stamp of irrepressible joy. He cradled in his arms a gigantic blue blanket which contained a tiny squalling infant snuggled within. Despite his excitement, Dr. Morris stepped back a little in order to let Heather rush forward.

"Look Heather," Michael said, leaning down to his daughter's level, "It's your brother."

"Gosh, he's so small! Is he meant to be that small? And he will get, y'know, normal-coloured in a while, right?" Her father smiled gently.

"He's new-born, Heather. Trust me, he'll get less pink in a couple of hours. And he's small because he's early, same as you. Seems my kids just can't wait to get out into the world, huh?"

"Wow!" The wonder in Heather's tone matched Michael's own as he held the tiny boy out for her inspection. "How's mom? Is she okay?"

"She's fine, sweetheart, just tired. You can go in and see her now if you like." Heather promptly rushed through the doors into the delivery room.

Michael rose and turned to Morris, who was standing politely out of the way. The look on his face told Michael that the scientist was clearly out of his depth on this occasion. He'd never been in the position of welcoming a new-born child on an emotional level. On a sudden impulse, Michael placed the bundled infant gently into Morris' arms.

"Doc'," Michael spoke softly, and a note of the most intense pride underlaid his voice, "Meet Theodore Wiseman."

"Th-Theodore? You named him...?"

"Yeah. Because... I never thanked you before for saving my life... because without you this little guy wouldn't be here now. We also named him for you because, well, since you made me, that kinda makes you his grandfather, doesn't it?" Morris made no reply, but stared down at the tiny child in mute amazement.

After several minutes of silence he spoke up, softly, "He looks like you. I guess Mother Nature admires my handiwork."

"Well, I suppose you can have some of the credit for his looks, but if he turns out to be a genius, it's down to me, right?"

The two men laughed lightly, sharing the humour of the moment, and for once both accepting their roles in each other's lives. Both knew that neither would standing there holding this baby if it weren't for the doctor's resolute devotion to his precious science project, and Michael's constantly wayward disobedience where Morris' rules were concerned. As much as they grated against each other's nature and approaches to their situation, they both realised and were grateful that events had conspired to bring this reward into their reluctant friendship.

**__**

FIN


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